No.  CLXXX1X. 
A 

oEiNCH'S    STANDARD     DRAMA. 


1— 'Numb. 


2  IN  I         5^3. 

5 

I  =3  THB 


A   DRAMA,   IN    FIVE    ACTS 
BY  THE  «***  CLUB. 

U8T  Or  CHARACTER,  STAGE  BU8IHK88,  OOBTUMM, 
BELATIYB  FOSIllONJi,  Ac.,  ft*. 


FilNClPAL   ENvJIJSU    A1JD    >.ITnurAN    TH2ATE0. 


-  > 

PRICE,  25  CR&TS 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

35  WEST  4STH  STREET 


I.ONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH.  Lm 
26  SouTHAMrroN  STHKET 


STRAND,  W.G2 


University  of  California 

Southern  Regional 

Library  Facility 


ADA  GIVES  FIRST  AID 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Eunice  Merrifield.  2  males,  6 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes. 

Ada  Wilde,  a  scatterbrained  woman,  suddenly  decides  that 
she  has  a  mission  to  perform.  She  organizes  a  class  in  first  aid, 
although  she  doesn't  know  the  difference  between  a  break 
and  a  sprainl  "The  girls"  are  busily  engaged  in  discussing  the 
latest  gossip  when  they  hear  a  loud  crash  outside.  A  strange 
man  has  met  with  an  accident.  And  what  "the  girls"  do  to  this 
victim  is  a  caution!  By  the  time  Ada  and  her  friends  have 
their  victim  to  the  point  of  unconsciousness  they  discover  that 
he  is  a  doctor  who  has  moved  into  the  house  next  door! 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 

GIRLS  OF  THE  U.S.A. 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Peggy  Fernway.  7  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes. 

Mrs.  Claire  Vanderpool,  an  aristocratic  society  matron,  is  so 
accustomed  to  her  bridge  parties  and  her  "pink-teas"  that  she 
thinks  she  can  go  about  her  social  pleasures  with  a  "business 
as  usual"  manner.  She  is  rudely  awakened  from  her  indiffer- 
ence when  her  daughters  go  all  out  for  civilian  defense.  The 
Vanderpool  home  soon  becomes  a  veritable  madhouse.  Gradu- 
ally, Mrs.  Vanderpool  is  brought  to  a  realization  of  her  duty  to 
her  country  and  she  goes  about  making  up  for  lost  time  in  a 
sincere  and  hearty  manner. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cenU. 

WHODUNIT? 

Mystery-farce,  i  act.  By  Millard  Crosby.  3  males, 
4  females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes. 

Walter  Beardsley,  young  novelist  who  has  recently  married 
Eve,  leaves  home  early  one  day  without  saying  where  he  is 
going.  Soon  Jeremiah  Piping,  the  comical  local  Sheriff,  bursts 
into  the  house  and  shouts  that  Walter  has  been  murdered. 
Suspicion  falls  on  a  handsome  young  man  who  has  been  visit- 
ing Eve,  and  just  as  the  Sheriff  is  about  to  arrest  him,  three 
shots  are  fired  and  the  Sheriff  falls  to  the  floor.  Then  the  lights 
go  out  and  the  Sheriff  disappears.  There  is  nothing  gruesome 
about  this  play,  and  the  comic  complications  and  surprise 
finish  make  it  superb  entertainment. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 


FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA 


Zfie  Sctfnjj  BfcltftR. 
No.  CLXXXIX. 

THE 


POOR  OF  NEW  YORK 


^  grama  in  Jrb* 

BY  THE  *  *  *  *  CLUB. 


TO    WHICH    ABB   ADDED 


of  the  Costume— Cut  of  the  Character*— KnT,r«rice«   and  Exit* 
Relative  Position*  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and  the  whole  of  tbi 
Stage  Business 


|Jttfomvb  at  Sftallarh's  C^alrt,  ^ecembtr,  185? 


a  f 

I' 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

35  WEST  45TH  STREET 


1455 

we 

LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Lm 
36  SOUTHAMPTON  STBJZX 
STRAND, 


Ca»t  Pi  Ibt  £b«v8Clerrj. — [Tai  POOR  o*  NEW  YOBK.J 


WaXack't  Theatre,  December,  1861 

CAFTAIN  FAIBWBATHBB,       ....  Mr.  Blake. 

GIDEON  BLOODGOOD,         .....  Mr.  Nortoa 

BADGER,      ......  Mr.  Lester. 

MARK  LIVIHOBTOM,       .....  Mr.  Sothern. 

PAUL,-        -  ....  Mr.A.H.  Davwioor'. 

PrTPT,  •  •  Mr.  Sloan. 

DAJT,    -        -        -        -        -        -        -        •  Mr.  T.  B.  John*.-*, 

DABIBLS,         ....  . .  Mr.  Tree. 

K:  WARDS.    ....  .  Mr.  Lever*. 

•      >    ,      ' 

MRS  FAIBWBATHBB,        -  -        -  Mrs.  Blake 

Mas.  PCFFT,        ...  .  Mrs.  Co-ike 

ALIDA,    ......  .        -  Mn>.  Hoey. 

LrcT, Mrs.  J.  II.  Allwi. 

«o«tume  -MODERN 

The  First  Act  occurs  duiing  the  Commercial  Panic  of  1837      TX 
remainder  of  the  Drama  takes  place  during  the  Panic  of  1867. 


STAGE     DIRECTIONS 


L  means  First  Entrance,  Left.  R.  First  Entrance,  Riyhi.  8  E.  I 
Second  Entrance,  Left.  S.  E.  11.  Second  Entrance,  Right.  U.  E.  L 
Upper  Entrance,  Left.  U.  E.  R.  Upper  Entrance.  Right.  C.  Centrt 
L.  C.  Left  Centre.  "R.  C.  Right  of  Centre.  T.  E.  L.  Third  Entrancr 
Jjeft.  T.  E.  R.  Third  Entrance,  Right.  C.  D.  Centre  Door.  D.  R 
Dot*  Right.  D.  L.  Door  Left.  D.  D.  L.  Upper  Door,  //*#.  U.  D.  R 
Upper  Door,  Right. 

%*  The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  on  the  Stage,  facing  the  Audience 


••tend  MoonJtcg  to  Act  «f  CtangrM,  In  the  y»<"  One  TaooMUHi  Klgbc  Hnndrvl  ud  Tmt  it* 
kr  T)iow  BOCCICAULT,  tn  the  Clerk't  <)ff>«*  «  tlM  Dl«trl«  <Coan  of  t.W  United  8* 
fcr  A-  8»otjMr»  D!i«r<ol  «f  Now  To'k 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  POOR  OF  NEW  YORK. 


Cfce  ^aitie  of  183Z. 

>OENE. — The  prwate  office  of  a  banking  house  in  Ac  u>  York;  4foef 
rt  back,  leading  to  the  Bank  ;  Door  L.  H.,  leading  to  a  sidt  tiriii 
GIDBON  BLOODGOOD  seated,  c.,  at  desk. 

Enter  EDWAKDB,  L.  H.  P.  F.,  with  a  sheet  of  paper. 

Edw.  The  stock  list,  sir; — second  board  of  brokers. 
Blood.  [Rising  eagerly.]  Let  me  see  it.     Tell  the  cashier  to  clow 
the  Bank  on  the  stroke  of  three,  and  dismiss  the  clerks.       \fleads. 

[Exit  EDW4KD8.       , 

Bo  -as  I  expected,  every  stock  is  down  further  still,  and  my  last  effor* 
to  letrieve  my  fortune  has  plunged  me  into  utter  ruin  1  [Crushet  ur 
tht  paper.}  To-morrow,  my  drafts  to  the  amount  of  eighty  thousand 
dollars  will  be  protested.  To-morrow,  yonder  street,  now  HO  still,  will 
be  tilled  with  a  howling  multitude,  fer  the  house  of  Bloodgood,  the 
Banker,  will  fail,  and  in  its  fall  will  crush  hundreds,  thousands,  whc 
have  their  fortunes  laid  up  here. 

Re-enter  EDWARDS. 

Edw.  Here  are  the  keys  of  the  safe  sir,  and  the  vault.  [Liar* 
ieys  on  desk  and  shoes  a  check  to  BLOODOOOD.]  The  building  com 
mittee  of  St.  Peter's  new  church  have  applied  for  your  donation,  h 
is  a  thousand  dollars. 

Wood.  Pay  it.  {Exit  EDWARDS.]  To-nn>rrow,  New  York  will  ring 
from  Union  di|Uaro  r,c  the  Battery  with  the  news — ''  Bloodgood  hiu 
absconded" — but.  to  niorrow  I  shall  be  safe  on  board  the  packet  foi 
Liverpool — all  is  prepared  for  my  flicht  with  my  ozly  care  in  lifa 
my  only  hope — my  darling  child — her  fortune  is  secure — [ritex.]  Th» 
»ffuir  will  blow  over ;  Blood  good's  bankruptcy  will  soon  be  forgot 
ten  iu  the  whirl  of  New  York  trade,  b«*  Alidt,  my  d«ar  Alida  « ill  b» 

' 


Re-enter  EDWARDS. 

Kdte.  Here,  sir,  are  the  drafts  on  the  Bank  of  England  70,000 
Jollnrs.  f//flHfi*  papers  to  BLOODGOOD,  who  placet  them  in  AM 
&  rk>  tbooK. 

i>'  >  d    Are  the  clerks  all  jrono  ? 

/i>.'/c.  All,  sir,  except  Mr   B;i<ljr<T. 

Blood.   Badger!  the  most  ucjrh^ent  of  all  1     Tliat  is  strange. 

Kdic.  FliB  entries  «re.  behind hand,  lie  Bars,  and  he  is  balancing 
bis  books. 

Blood.  Desire  him  to  com  ;  to  me.        [Sits.     Exit  EDWABM.        . 

Enter  BADSIB,  sntottng  rigor. 

Sad.  You  have  asked  for  me. 

Blood.  Yes ;  you  are  strangely  attentive  to  business  to-day,  Mr 
Badger. 

Bad.  Everything  has  a  beginning. 

Blood.     Then  you  will  please  to  begin  to-morrow. 

Bad.  To-morrow !  no  sir,  my  business  must  be  done  to-d»y. 
Carpe  diem — make  most  of  to-day — that's  my  philosophy. 

Blood.  Mr.  Badger,  Philosophy  is  not  a  virtue  in  a  banker's  clerk. 

Bad.  Think  not  1 

Blood.  [Impatiently,]  Neither  philosophy  nor  impertinence.  To* 
tie  discharged  from  my  employment. 

Bad.  Pardon  me!  I  do  not  catch  the  precise  word. 

Blood.  [Sternly.]  Go,  sir,  go  1  I  discharge  yon. 

Bad.  Go! — discharge  me  1  I  am  still  more  in  the  dark,  i  can 
understand  my  services  not  being  required  in  a  house  that  goes  on, 
but  where  the  house  is  ready  to  burst,  up  the  formality  of  telling  a 
r.lerk  he  is  discharge'!,  <*  "ss  seem  to  me  an  unnecessary  luxury. 

Blood.  [Tri/ubled.l   I  rh>  not  understand  you,  sir. 

Bad.  [Seating  himself  on  a.  desk,  deliberately  dangling  his  legt.\ 
So!  well  I'll  *.i>l  my  i:s  and  cross  my  t's.  and  make  myself  plain  to 
the  meanest  i-vjnrity.  In  business  there  are  two  ways  of  getting 
neh,  one  hard,  slow  and  troublous:  this  is  called  labor ; — 

Blood.  Sir! 

Aid.  Allow  me  to  finish.  The  other  jiasy.  quick  and  demanding 
•oihini;  hii;  n  pliant  conscience  and  a  da  'ing  n-i^d — is  now  pleasantly 
lenomiimH  tii:aneieririg — but  when  New  Y'ork  was  honest,  it  was 
tilled  lit  ii'liilent  bankruptcy,  that  was  before  you  arid  1  were  born. 

Blood.   What  do  you  mean  ? 

liad.  \  !!'.i;an  th.U  for  ;m>ie  than  two  years  I  have  watched  yout 
Diisiiiess  uai-sartions-,  •.vlien  you  thought  me  idle,  my  eyes  were  every 
4  here  .  in  your  books,  in  your  safe  in  your  vaults  ;  if  you  doubt  m« 
|uestion  me  about  your  operations  for  the  la*t  three  months 

Blood.  This  is  infamous  ! 

Rtid.  That  is  precisely  the  word  I  used  when  I  cam*  to  the  end  ol 
your  books. 

M*r    \  O*Jt*id*.\  This  way,  »i>. 


TH2   POOH   OF  NSW   YORK,  6 

Enter  EDWARDS,  with  CAPTAIN  FAIRWEA  ram 

Blood.  [To  BADGEB,  in  alarm.]    Not  a  word. 

Bad.  All  right. 

fJdw.  [Introditeing  CAPTAIN  F.]  This  is  Mr.  Bloodgood. 

Capt.  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  You  will  pardon  my  intruding  ai 
»u  hour  when  the  bank,  I  am  told,  is  closed. 

Blood.  I  am  at  your  service,  sir. 

[He  mates  a  sign  for  BADGEK  to  retire,  b>ti  the  litter  rcma  nt 

Bad.  [To  CAPTAIM.]  You  may  speak,  sir  ;  Mr.  Bloodgood  has  n< 
g^rets  from  me.  I  am  in  his  confidence. 

Capt.  [Sits.]  I  ara  a  sea-cuptain,  in  the  India  Trade.  My  voy- 
ages are  of  the  Ion/jest,  and  thus  I  am  obliged  to  leave  my  wile  and 
two  children  almost  at  the  mercy  of  circumstances.  I  was  spending 
a  happy  month  with  my  darlings  at  a  little  cosy  place  I  have  at 
Yonkers  while  my  ship  was  loading,  when  this  internal  commercial 
squall  set  in — all  my  fortune,  100,000  dollars,  the  fruits  of  thirty 
years'  hard  toil — was  invested  in  the  United  States  Bank — it  was 
ihe  livelihood  of  my  wife — the  food  of  my  little  children — I  hur- 
lied  to  my  brokers  and  sold  out.  I  saved  myself  just  in  time. 

Blood.  I  admire  your  promptitude. 

Capt.  To-morrow  I  sail  for  China ;  for  the  last  three  weeks  I  have 
worried  my  brains  to  think  how  I  should  bestow  my  money—  to-day 
I  bethought  me  of  your  house — the  oldest  in  New  York — your  name 
glands  beyond  suspicion,  and  if  I  leave  this  money  in  your  hands,  I 
am  sleep  nightly  with  the  happy  assurance  that  whatever  happens  to 
me,  tuy  dearest  ones  are  safe. 

Bad.  You  may  pull  your  nightcap  over  your  ears  with  that  estab- 
lished conviction. 

Capt.  Now,  1  know  your  bank  is  closed,  but  if  you  will  accept  thi* 
money  as  a  special  deposit,  I  will  write  to  you  how  I  desire  it  to  b« 
forested  hereafter. 

Blood.  [Pensive.]  You  have  a  family  1 

Capt.  Don't  Udk  of  them — tears  of  joy  come  into  my  eyes  whenever 
I  think  of  those  children — and  my  dear  wife,  the  patient,  devoted 
companion  of  the  old  sailor,  whose  loving  voice  murmurs  each  evening 
a  prayer  for  those  who  are  on  the  sea ;  and  my  children,  sir,  twa 
little  angels';  one  a  fair  little  thing — we  call  her  Lucy — she  is  th« 
youngest — all  red  and  white  like  a  little  bundle  of  nuwers;  and  inj 
eldest — my  son  Paul — we  named  him  after  Paul  Jones — a  sailor'* 
whim;  well,  sir,  when  the  ship  is  creaking  and  groaning  under  mj 
feet,  when  the  squall  drives  the  hail  and  sleet  across  my  face,  anrd» 
the  thunder,  I  only  hear  three  voices — through  the  gloom  I  can  NO* 
only  three  faces,  pressed  together  like  throe  angels  waiting  for  me  Ir 
heaven,  and  that  heaven  is  my  home.  But,  how  I  do  talk,  sir — for 
getting  that  these  things  can't  interest  yju. 

Blood.  Thoy  do,  moixs  than  you  imagine.  I,  too,  have  ft  child- 
only  »'.  t — a  motherloss  child  ! 

Ca.pt.  A iut  it  good  to  speak  of  the  little  beings  ?     Don't  it  fill  UM 
a  a  1-aught  of  sweet  water  \     My  darling  torment* ,  bw»  fa 

I4«< 


4  CUE    H(.>0«    OF    SKW     im\A 

Ihelr  fortune — I  have  it  in  my  hand — it  is  hero—  I  have  snatch*, J  Ik 
from  the  waves ;  I  hare  won  it  across  the  tempest ;  I  have  labored, 
wrostled,  and  suffered  for  it ;  but.it  seemed  nothing,  for  it  waa  foi 
llictn.  Take  it,  sir.  [lit  hand*  a  pocket-book.]  In  tin.-,  pocket-book 
you  will  find  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  May  I  take  your  receipt 
and  at  once  depart  for  my  vessel  1 

Bad.  [Aside.]  This  is  getting  positively  interesting. 
1       Blood.  Your  confidence  flatters  me,  sir.     You  desire  to  place  thii 
noney  \vir,h  me  as  a  special  deposit  1 

Capt.  If  yon  please.     Will  you  see  that  the  amount  is  correct? 
;  .  -*>  Blood.  [Counting.]  Mr.  Badger,  prepare  the  receipt. 

B<id.  [  Writing.]  "  Now  York,  13th  of  December,  1837.  Received, 
:r  spoc'al  deposit,  from "  [To  CAPTAIN.]  Your  name,  sir? 

Capt.  Captain  Fairweather,  of  the  ship  Paul  and  Lucy,  of  New 
f;-rk. 

Bad.  [  Writing.}  Captaiu  Fairweather,  of  the  ship—— • 

Blood.  One  hundred  thousand  dollars — quite  correct 

Bad.  [Handing  receipt  to  BLOODGOOD,  and  watching  him  closely  at 
ki  take*  the  pen.]  Please  sign  the  receipt.  [Aside.]  His  hand  doei 
not  tremblo,  not  a  muscle  moves.  What  a  magniflceut  robber  ! 

Blood.  [To  CAPTAIS.]  Here  is  your  receipt 

Ca.pt.  A  thousand* thanks.     Now  I  ara  relieved  of  all  trouble. 

Bad.  [Aside.}  That's  true. 

Capt.  1  must  return  in  haste  to  the  Astor  House,  where  I  dine  with 
my  owners  at  four — I  fear  I  am  late.  Good-day,  Mr.  Bloodgood. 

Blood.  Good-day,  Captain,  and  a  prosperous  voyage  to  you.  [Exit 
CAPTAIN  FAIRWEATHER.  BADOBR  opens  ledger.}  What  are  yon  do- 
ing, Mr.  Badger? 

Bad.  1  am  going  to  enter  that  special  deposit  in  the  ledger. 

Blood.  Mr.  Badger! 

Bad.  Mr.  Bloodgood ! 

Blood.  [Brings  h  im  down,]  I  have  been  deceived  in  you  I  confen 
I  did  not  know  your  value. 

Bad.  [Modestly.}  Patience  and  pel-severance,  sir,  tells  in  the  long 
run. 

Blood.  Here  are  one  thousand  dollars — I  present  them  to  yon  f« 
your  past  services. 

bod.  [Takes  the  money,  and  walks  over  to  the  ledger  on  the  dttk. 
which  he  doses  significantly.]  And  for  the  present  service  ? 

Blood.  What  do  you  mean  ?  . 

Bad.  My  meaning  is  as  clear  as  Croton.\  I  thought  you  were  gotaf 
*o  fail — I  see  1  was  wrong — you  are  going  to  abscond. 

Blood.  Mr.  Badger!  this  language 

Bad.  This  deposit  is  special ;  yon  dare  not  use  it  in  yojr  businow  : 
yoar  creditor  cannot  touch  it — ergo,  you  mean  to  make  a  raiss  and 
ikere's  but  one  way — abscousion !  abstjuatulation. 

Blood.  [Singling.}  It  in  possible  that  this  evening  I  may  take  • 
little  walk  out  of  to\vn. 

Bud.  In  a  steamboat? 

Blood.  Meet  me  at  Peck  Slip,  at  five  o'clock,  and  I  win  hand  j  « 
the  sum  I  gave  TOO. 


TBR    POOR    Ot   JTKW    TOEK.  1 

Boat    [A*iit.]  In  at'  three  thousand  dollars 
Re-enter  EDWARDS. 

Edv.  Your  daughter,  sir ;  Miss  Alida  is  in  the  car-  iag«  at  the  door 
i  (1  is  '.r reaming  to  be  admitted. 

Blood.  Tell  the  nurse  to  pacify  her  for  a  few  moments. 

Edv>  She  dare  no*,  sir ;  Miss  Alida  has  torn  nurse's  face  in  a  fear- 
t»l  manner  already.  [Exit. 

Bod.  Dear,  high-spirited  child !  If  she  is  so  gentle  now,  what  win 
»!Lt  be  when  she  is  twenty,  and  her  nails  are  fully  developed  1 

Blood.  [Takes  hat.\  I  will  return  immediately.  [Exit. 

Bad.  [  following  BLOODOOOD  with  his  eyet.}  Oh,  nature,  wonderful 
mistress!  Keep  close  to  your  daughter,  Bloodgood,  for  she  is  your 
master !  Ruin,  pillage,  rob  fifty  families  to  make  her  rich  with  their 
nusery,  '>appy  in  their  tears.  1  watched  him  as  he  received  the  for- 
tune of  ihat  noble  old  sailor — not  a  blink — his  heart  of  iron  never 
qciailed ,  but  in  this  heart  of  iron  there  is  a  straw,  a  weakness,  by 
which  ic  may  be  cracked,  and  that  weakness  is  his  own  child — chil- 
dren !  They  are  the  devil  in  disguise.  I  have  not  got  any  except 
my  passions,  my  vices — a  large  family  of  spoilt  and  ungrateful  little 
dvvils,  who  threaten  their  loving  father  with  a  prison. 

Edw.  [Outside.]  I  tell  you,  sir,  he  is  not  in. 

Capt.  [Outside.\  Let  me  pass  I  say.  [He  entert  very  much  agitated.] 
Where  is  he ?  Where  is  he  1 

Bad.  [Surprised.]  What  is  the  matter,  sir  1 

Capt.  Mr.  Bloodgood — I  must  see  him — speak  to  him  this  instant 
I  j  you  not  hear  me  1 

Bad.  But 

Capt.  1)«)  has  not  gone. 

Sad.  Sir 

Caft.  Ah  1  he  is  here! 

Re-enter  BLOODOOOD. 

Blood.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this. 

Capt.  Ah!  you — it  is  you —  [Trying  to  restrain  hibernation.]  Sir, 

have  changed  my  mind ;  here  is  your  receipt ;  have  the  goodness  U 
nurn  rue  the  deposit  I — I — left  with  you. 

Blood.  Sir! 

Capt.  I  have  another  investment  for  thir  urn,  and  I — beg  you  to  PB- 
lore  it  to  me. 

Stood.  Restore  it !  you  hare  a  very  strange  way,  sir,  of  demaDdlng 
•rtiat  is  due  to  yon. 

Capt.  It  is  true ;  pardon  me  but  I  have  told  yon  it  is  all  I  possess 
I*,  is  the  fortune  of  my  wife,  of  my  children,  of  my  brave  Paul  and 
my  dear  little  Lucy.  It  is  their  future  happiness,  their  life  !  Listen, 
lir  ;  I  will  be  frank  with  you.  Just  now,  on  returning  to  my  hotel, 
I  found  the  owners  of  my  ship  waiting  dinner  for  me.  well,  they  were 
•peaking  as  merchants  will  speak  of  each  other — your  name  wai 
— I  listened — and  they  said — It  makes  me  tremble  «vei 


rim  POOK  OP  JKW  TUH&. 

sow  —they  said  there  were  rumours  abroad  to  day  tliat  yonr  boas* 
was  in  peril. 

Jlluc'd.  I  attack  no  importance,  air,  to  idle  talk. 

Cnpt.  But  I  attach  importance  to  it,  sir.  How  can  I  leave  tne  city 
with  this  suspicion  on  my  mind  that  perhaps  I  have  compromised  iht 
future  of  my  family. 

Hood.  Sir! 

Capt.  Take  back  your  receipt,  and  return  me  my  money. 

Blond.  You  know  sir,  that  it  is  after  banking  hours.  Reta-i 
la  morrow. 

Capt.  No.     You  received  my  deposit  after  banking  Lours. 

Bwod  I  am  not  a  paying  teller,  to  count  out  money. 

Capt.  You  did  not  say  so,  when  you  counted  it  in. 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

Kdte.  The  driver  says  you  will  be  late  for  the 

Blood.  [Trying  to  stop  him.]  That  wiH  do.          [Exit  EDWARDS. 

Capt.  What  did  he  say  "?  [Runs  to  the  window.]  A  carriage  »• 
the  door — 

Bad.  [Aside.]  Things  are  getting  complicated  here. 

Capt  Yes — I  see  it  all.  He  is  going  to  fly  with  the  fortui.es  acd 
savings  of  his  dupes  !  [Tearing  hit  cravat.]  Ah!  I  shall  choke!  [Fvi- 
rioutly  to  BLOODQOOD.J  But  I  am  here,  villian,  I  am  here  in  time. 

Blood.  Sir. 

Capt.  To-morrow,  you  said — return  to-morrow — but  to-morrow  you 
will  be  gone.  [  Precipitates  himself  on  BLOODOOOD.]  My  money,  my 
money.  I  will  have  it  this  instant!  Do  not  speak  a  word,  it  is  useless, 
I  will  not  listen  to  you.  My  money,  or  I  will  kill  you  as  a  coward 
should  be  killed,  Robber!  Thief! 

Bad.  [Aside.]  Hi !  hi !  This  is  worth  fifty  cents — reserved  seat* 
extra. 

Blood.  [Disengaging  himself '.]  Enough  of  this  scandal.  You  shall 
have  your  money  back  again. 

Capt.  Give  it  me — ah! — [7n  pain.]  My  head!  [To  BLOODOOOD.  J 
Be  quick,  give  it  to  me,  and  let  me  go.  [Staggering  and  putting  hit 
hand*  to  face.]  My  God  !  what  is  this  strange  feeling  which  over- 
comes me. 

Bad.     He  is  falling,  what's  the  matter  of  him  1 

[CAPTAIN  F.  falls  in  chair  c. 

Bleed.  His  face  is  purple.  [ Takes  pocket-book  and  commencet  U 
tount  out  money. 

[Soft  music  to  end  of  act. 

Capt.  I  am  suffocating ;  some  air.  I  cannot  see ;  everything  i* 
black  before  my  eyes.  Am  I  dying  1  0,  no,  no!  it  cannot  be,  I  will 
not  die.  I  must  see  them  again.  Some  water — quick!  Cumetome— 
my  wife— my  children  !  Where  are  they  that  I  cannot  fold  them  :n  my 
arms  !  [He  looks  stra:igely  and  fearfully  into  the  face  o/"  BLOODOOOB 
for  an  instant,  and  then  breaks  into  a  loud  sob.]  Oh,  my  children — 
my  poor,  poor,  little  children  I  (After  tome  convulsive  e/ortt  io  sptol 
bit  eyes  become  jEzwi. 


TEK   POOR   OF  NBW    TOHK.  f 

Blood.  [Distracted.}  Some  one  run  for  help.  Badger,  a  doctoi 
quick. 

Z?ad.  [/Sfca«<ftri£  over  CAPTAIN.]  All  right,  sir,  I  have  studied 
medicine — that  is  how  I  learned  mcst  of  my  loose  habits.  [Examine* 
the  CAPTAIN'S  pulse  and  eyes.]  It  is  useless,  air.  He  is  dead. 

Blood.  [Horrified.]  Dead  1  [BLOODGOOD'S  attitude,  is  one  ofertremf 
horror.  This  position  gradually  relaxes  as  he  begins  to  see  the  advan- 
tages that  will  result  from  the  CAPTAIN'S  death.]  Can  it  b«  possible '. 

Bad.  [Tearing  open  the  CAPTAIN'S  vest.  The  receipt  fulls  on  tin- 
ground.]  His  heart  has  ceased  to  beat— congestion  in  all  its  diag 
nostics. 

Blood.  Dead! 

Bad.  Apoplexy — the  symptoms  well  developed — the  cans-s 
natural,  over-excitement  and  sudden  emotion. 

Blood.  [Relaxing  into  an  attitude  of  cunning.]  Dead  1 

Bad.  You  are  spared  the  agony  of  counting  out  his  money. 

Blood.  Dead  ! 

Bad.  [Sees  receipt  on  ground]  Hal  here  is  the  receipt  1  Signed 
i)j  Blooagood.  As  a  general  rule  never  destroy  a  receipt — there 
is  no  knowing  when  it  may  yet  prove  useful  [Pick*  it  up,  awl 
puts  iti»ku  pocket. 

Tableau. 


BUD  Of  Uft  I 


tO  I  UK    rook    OK    Ni.H    ?0kk. 

lulnrvene  l>riwe«u  the  Klraiuui  dwaui  Aa» 
ACT   II. 


Dame  of  1S5Z. 


, 
^ 


SCJBNE  l.—The  Park,  near  Tammany  Hail 


L*K  Eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  !  For  th*»  )a«t  hour  I  iiaro  beei 
hovering  round  Chatham  street'  —  I  wauled  to  sell  my  overcoat  to  some 
•nterprising  loSarttle,  but  1  could  not  muster  the  ci  arago  to  enter  cm 
jf  those  dens.  Can  1  realize  the  fact?  Three  month.-,  ago,  1  stood 
there  the  fashionable  Mark  Livingstone,  owner  ot'  the  Waterwiich 
yacht,  oue  of  the  original  stock-holders  in  the  Academy  of  Music,  and 
now,  burst  up,  sold  out,  and  reduced  to  breakfast  oft'  this  coat  [/'•»/* 
•M  ike  i>ccket.\  What  do  1  feel  '(  a  gold  dollar  —  undiscovered  iu  t)i« 
Eaglau  of  other  days  !  [  Withdraws  kis  ha*d.\  ^o  ;  tis  a  live-onus 
(iece! 

Enter  PCFFT,  with  a  hot-potato  arrangement. 


Ta&t  ei^'ut  o'clock  !  I  aiu  late  this  woruiug. 
i  wonder  what  that  fellow  has  in  his  Liu  volcano  —  it 
*»U.     iia  !  \.-hat  are  those  fuuny  luinys  <     Ah  ! 

I'uj^y.  Sweet  potatt>es,  >;ir. 

Liv.  Indeed  !  [  Aside,  ±  If  tiia  Union  Ciub  saw  me—  [Look*  round.] 
No  ;  I  am  incog  —  hunger  cries  aloud.  Here  goes. 

Pvjfy.  Why,  hiess  me,  if  it  ain't  Mr.  Livingstons! 

Lie.  The  devil  !     lie  knows  me  —  I  dare  not  eat  a  morsel 

P-ujj'y.  i  iii  PtUiy,  s>ir  ;  the  baker  that  was  —  ir  Broadwa  '  —  server 
you,  sir,  and  your  ^ood  lather  afore  j'ou. 

Lve.  Oh,  Pull'y  —  ah,  true.  [Aside.]  I  wonder  if  I  owe  him  anything 

Puffy.  JJovvn  in  the  world  now,  sir  —  over-speculated  uke  too  res< 
uc  'em.  I  expanded  on  a  new-fangled  oven,  that  was  to  bake  enough 
bread  in  six.  hours  to  supply  the  whole  United  State*  —  got  doue  brown 
iu  it.  myself  —  subsided  into  Bowery  —  expandel  tgaiu  oa  woffles, 
caught  a  second  time  —  obliged  to  contract  into  a  twelve  foot  front  OB 
Division  street.  Mrs.  P.  tends  the  indoor  trade  —  I  do  a  k-comotive 
business  in  potatoes,  and  we  let  our  second  floor.  My  son  Dun  sleeps 
with  George  Washington  Wo.  4,  while  Mrs.  P.  and  1  make  out  undei 
the  counter;  Mrs.  P.,  bein'  wide,  objects  some,  but  I  says  —  says  1 
"My  dear,  everybody  must  contract  themselves  in  these  here  hart! 
times." 

Lit.  So  you  are  poor  now,  are  you  1    \Tobet  a  potato,  playfully. 

Puffy.  Yes,  sir;  I  ain't  ashamed  to  own  it  —  forjl  hurt  nobody 
but  myself.  Take  a  little  salt,  sir.  But,  Lord  bless  you,  sir,  poverty 
don't  come  amiss  to  me—  I've  get  uo  pride  to  support.  Now, 


THB    POOR    OP   BBW    TOBK..  11 

Lit.  Ah,  your  second  floor. 

Pujfy.  A  widow  lady  and  her  f-vo  grown  children  —  poor  li  mia*, 
but  proud,  si?  —  they  was  grand  folks  once  ;  you  can  see  that  by  tin 
iray  they  try  to  bide  it.  Mrs.  Fairweatber  is  a  - 

L*v.  Fairweather  —  tbe  widow  of  a  sea  captain,  who  died  here  in 
Sew  York,  twenty  years  ago  i 

Puffy.  Do  you  know  niy  lodgers  1 

lAv.  Three  months  ago,  they  lived  in  Brooklyn—  Paul  had  a  clerk 
*ip  in  the  Navy  Yard. 

Puffy.  But  when  the  panic  set  in,  the  United  .States  government 
<watracied  —  it  paid  off  a  number  of  employee*,  and  Mr.  Paul  wai 
itoehargcd. 

L\v.  They  are  reduced,  to  poverty  and  I  did  not  know  it.  —  No,  bow 
r*'uM  I.  [Aside.]  Since  'my  ruin  I  have  avoided  theui.  [Aloud.] 
And  Lucy  —  1  mean  Miss  Fairweather  1  - 

Puffy.  She  works  at  a  milliner's,  in  Broadway  —  bless  her  sweet 
face  and  kind  smile  —  me  and  my  wife,  we  could  bake  ourselves  intc 
bread  aioro  she  and  they  should"  come  to  want;  and  as  for  my  boj 
Dan  —  talk  of  going  through  fire  and  water  for  her  —  he  does  that  everj 
night  for  nothing.  Why,  sir,  you  can't  say  "Lucy,"  but  a  big  tea) 
w-11  come  up  in  his  eye  as  big  as  a  cartwheel,  and  then  he'll  let  oat 
•u  almighty  cuss,  that  sounds  like  a  thousand  o'  brick. 

Enter  PAUL  and  MRS.  FAIKWKATHER,  drestcd  in  black. 

IAV.  Oli  I  [/»  confusion,  hides  the  potato  in  his  pocket,  and  hwma 
an  air  as  he  walks  away.  Aside.]  1  wonder  if  they  know  me. 

Mrs.  F.  Ah,  Mr.  Pufly. 

Puffy.  What,  my  second  floor.  Mrs.  Fairweather  —  good  morning, 
M  r.  Paul  ;  I  hope  no  misfortune  has  happened  —  you  are  dressed  in 
mourning. 

Mrs.  F.  This  is  the  anniversary  of  my  poor  husband's  death  ;  this 
day,  twenty  years  ago,  he  was  taken  away  from  us  —  we  keep  it 
sacred  to  his  memory. 

Paul.  It  was  a  fatal  day  for  us.  When  my  father  left  home  he  had 
100,000  dollars  on  his  person  —  when  he  was  found  lying  dead  on  th« 
sidewalk  of  Liberty  street,he  was  robbed  of  aH. 

Mrs.  F.  From  that  hour  misfortune  has  tracked  us  —  we  have  lost 
our  friends. 

Puffy.  Friends  —  that  reminds  me  —  why  where  is  Mr.  Living- 
stone —  there's  his  coat  — 

Paul.  Livingstone! 

Puffy.  We  were  talking  of  you,  when  you  came  np.     He  slipped 


Re-enter  LIVINGSTONE. 

Lit.  1  think  1  dropped  my  coat.  I  Recognizing  *hein.]  1'atu— 
tnstaken  1 

J/rt.  F.  No,  Mr.  Livingstone. 
Paul.  Good  moniina,  sir. 
tec.  Sir!  —  Mr.  Livingstone!  —  hav«  I  offended  TOP* 


'  TIIK  POOR  or  BBW  TOEX. 

Vie  could  not  expect  you  to  descend  to  risit  us  in  oar  pou 

lodging. 

Jfrs  F.  We  cannot  afford  the  pleasure  of  your  society. 

Liv.  Let  ine  assure  you  that  I  was  ignorant  of  your  misfortunes — 
And  if  1  have  not  called — it  was  because — a — because—  [Atidt.f 
What  shall  I  say.  [Aloud  ]  — I  have  b«en  absent  from  the  city  ;— 
may  I  ask  how  is  your  sister  1 

Paul.  My  sister  Lucy  is  now  employed  in  a  millinery  store  It 
Broadway — she  sees  you  pass  the  door  every  day. 

Liv.  [Aside.]  The  devil — I  must  confess  my  ruin,  or  appear  a  ccn- 
iemptiblc  scoundrel. 

Paul.  Livingstone — I  cannot  conceal  my  feelings,  we  were  school- 
mates together — and  i  must  speak  out — 

Liv.  [Aside. I  I  know  what's  coming. 

Paul.  I'm  a  blunt  New  York  boy,  and  have  something  of  the  old 
bluff  snHor's  blood  in  my  veins — so  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  that  you 
have  behaved  badly  to  my  sister  Lucy. 

Liv.  For  many  months  I  was  a  daily  visitor  at  your  house — I  loved 
your  sister. 

Paul  You  asked  me  for  Lucy's  hand — I  gave  it,  because  I  loved 
you  as  a  brother — not  because  you  were  rich. 

Liv.  [Aside.]  To  retrieve  my  fortunes  so  that  I  might  marry — I 
ipeculated  in  stocks  and  lost  all  I  possessed.  To  enrich  Lucy  and  her 
family,  I  involved  myself  in  utter  ruin. 

Paid.  The  next  day  I  lost  my  clerkship — we  were  reduced  to 
poverty,  and  you  disappeared. 

lAv.  I  can't  stand  it — I  will  confess  all — let  me  sacrifice  every 
feeling  but  Lucy's  love  and  your  esteem — 

Mrs.  F.  Beware,  Mr.  Livingstone,  how  you  seek  to  renew  ooi 
acquaintance  ;  recollect  my  daughter  earns  a  pittance  behind  a  coun- 
ter— 1  take  in  work,  and  Paul  now  seeks  for  the  poorest  means  of  earn- 
ing an  honest  crust  of  bread. 

Liv.  And  what  would  you  say  if  I  were  no  better  off  than  yc  ur 
•elves — if  I  too  were  poor — if  I — 

Pvffy.  You,  poor,  you  who  own  a  square  mile  of  New  York  ? 

Enter  BLOODGOCD. 

LJa.  Mr.  Bloodgood ! 

Blood.  Ah,  Livingstone — why  do  you  not  call  to  see  us  1  You  know 
our  address — Madison  square — my  daughter  Alida  will  be  delighted.— 
By  the  way — I  have  some  paper  of  yours  at  the  bank,  it  comes  due 
to-day — ten  thousand  dollars,  I  think — you  bank  at  the  Chemical  1 

Liv.  Yes,  I  do — that  is  did, — bank  ther^. 

Blood.  Why  don't  you  bank  with  me,  a  rich  and  careless  fellow  lik« 
fon — with  a  large  account 

Liv.  Yes — I — [Aside.]  lie  is  cutting  the  ground  from  under  my 
feet. 

Paul.  Mr.  Bloodgood — pardon  me,  sir,  but  I  was  about  to  call  OB 
you  to-day  to  solicit  employment. 

Blood.  J'w  ful!,  sir, — indeed  I  think  of  reducing  salaries,  ev«ry>x>d» 
«  doing  «o. 


THE    POOR    OF    HEW    TOBK.  II 

L%n.  Bat  you  are  making  thousands  a  week  1 

Blood  That  is  no  reason  that  I  should  not  take  ad  intage  of  JM 
tmes — [Rfcognizingr  Puffy.]  Ah,  Mr.  Puffy,  that  not*  of  yours. 

Puffy.  Oh,  Lord  !  [ Aside.}  It  is  the  note  Mrs.  Fairwt- ithef  gave  DM 
5cr  her  rent. 

Blood.  My  patience  is  worn  out. 

Puffy.  It's  all  right  sir. 

Blood.  Take  care  it  is.  [Exit. 

Puffy.  There  goes  the  hardest  cuss  that  ever  went  to  Imv. 

Liv.  Paul — ray  dear  friend — will  you  believe  me — my  /oelings  art 
the  same  towards  you — nay  more  tender,  more  sincere  tiian  ever — bat 
fchere  are  circumstan  •  s  I  cannot  explain. 

Mn.  F.  Mr.  Livingstone,  say  no  more — we  ask  no  explanation. 

Liv.  But  I  ask  something — let  me  visit  you — let  me  return  to  th« 
place  that  1  once  heM  in  your  hearts. 

Puffy.  219  Division  street — Putfy,  Baker.  Dinner  at  half  past  one 
— come  to  day,  sir — do,  sir. 

Paul.  We  cam  rot  refuse  you.  — 

Mrs.  F.  I  will  go  to  Lucy's  store  and  let  her  know.  An !  Mr. 
Livingstone — she  has  never  confessed  that  she  loved  you — but  you 
will  find  her  cheek  paler  than  it  used  to  be.  [Exit. 

Paul.  And  now  to  hunt  for  work — to  go  from  office  to  office  plead- 
ing for  employment — to  be  met  always  with  the  same  answer — "  we 
are  full" — or  "  we  are  discharging  hands'! — Livingstone,  I  begin  to 
envy  the  common  laborer  who  has  no  fears,  no  care,  beyond  bis  food 
r.nd  shelter — I  am  beginning  to  lose  my  pity  for  the  poor. 

Liv .  The  poor  ! — whom  do  you  call  the  poor  1  Do  you  know  them  ? 
do  yon  see  them  7  they  are  more  frequently  found  under  a  black 
coat  than  under  a  red  shirt.  The  poor  man  is  the  clerk  with  a  family, 
forced  to  maintain  a  decent  suit  of  clothes,  paid  for  out  of  the  hunger 
of  his  children.  The  poor  man  is  the  artist  who  is  obliged  to  pledge 
toe  tools  of  his  trade  to  buy  medicines  for  his  sick  wife.  The  lawyer 
who,  craving  for  employment,  buttons  up  his  thin  paletot  to  hide 
his  shirtless  breast.  These  needy  wretches  are  poorer  than  the  poor, 
tor  they  are  obliged  to  conceal  their  poverty  with  the  false  mask  oi 
content — smoking  a  cigar  to  disguise  their  hunger — they  drag  from 
their  pockets  their  last  quarter,  to  cast  it  with  studied  carelessness,  to 
the  begger,  whose  mattress  at  home  is  lined  with  gold.  These  are 
the  most  miserable  of  the  Poor  of  New  York. 
I A  small  crowd  has  assemble  round  LIVINGSTONE  during  this  speech^ 

they  take  him  for  an  orator;  one  of  them  takes  down  whai  he  sayt  on 

tablets. 

Enter  POLICEMAN. 

Puffy  and  crowd.  Bravo — Bravo — Hurrah — get"  on  the  bench I 

Police.  Come — I  say — this  won't  do. 

Lit.  What  have  I  done. 

Police.  No  stumping  to  the  population  allowed  in  the  Park. 

IAV.  Si-limping ! ! 

Oblige  me  with  your  name,  sir,  for  the  Herald. 

\Rushes  off.  followed  bv  PAPV 


M.  TUB    POOR   OP    NEW     YORK, 

, 

SCENE  II  —  Svtfrior  o/  BLOODOOOD'S  Bank,  Aagt&u  Strttt 
Enter-  BLOODOOOD. 

Blood.  [Looking  at  papers.]  Four  per  cent,  a  month  —  ha!  if  tliit 
panic  do  hut  last,  I  shall  double  my  fortune  !  Twenty  years  ago  thii 
rery  month  —  ay,  this  very  day  —  I  stood  in  yaudcr  bank,  a  ruined 
man.  Shall  I  never  forget  that  night  —  when  I  and  my  accomplice 
jarried  out  the  body  of  the  old  sailor  and  laid  it  there.  [Poinit  L.] 
[  never  pass  the  spot  without  a  shudder.  But  his  money  —  lhat 
founded  my  new  fortune. 

Enter  ALIPA. 

Alida,  my  dear  child,  what  brings  you  to  this  part  of  the  city  1 

AHda.  I  want  two  thousand  dollars. 

Blood.  My  dearest  child,  I  gave  you  five  hundred  last  week. 

Alida.  Pooh  !  what's  five  hundred  1  You  made  ten  thousand  in 
Michigan  Southern  last  week  —  I  heard  you  tell  Mr.  Jacob  Little  so. 

Blood.  But  — 

Alida.  Come,  don't  stand  fooling  about  it;  go  &  and  get  the 
money  —  I  must  have  it. 

Blood.  Well,  my  darling,  if  you  must.     Will  you  stop  in  1 

Alida.  Not  I.  I'm  not  going  into  your  dirty  bank.  I've  seen  all 
your  clerks  —  they're  not  worth  looking  at. 

Blood.  I'll  go  and  fetch  it.  [Exit. 

Alida.  This  is  positively  the  last  time  I  will  submit  to  this  extor- 
tion. [Opens  a  letter  and  reads.]  ''  My  adored  Alida  —  1  fly  to  your 
exquisite  feet  ;  I  am  the  most  wretched  of  men.  Last  night,  at  Hall's, 
I  lost  two  thousand  dollars  —  it  must  be  paid  before  twelve  o'clock 
Oh,  my  queen  !  my  angol  !  invent  some  excuse  to  get  this  money  from 
four  father,  ami  meet  me  at  Maillard's  at  half-past  eleven.  When 
•hail  we  meet  again  alone,  in  that  box  at  the  opera,  where  I  can  press 
my  lips  to  your  superb  eyea,  and  twine  my  hands  in  your  magnificent 
hair  1  Addio  carissima!  THE  DL*KE  OF  CALCAVEI.LA."  I  wonder 
If  he  showed  that  to  any  of  his  friends  heft-re  he  sent  it  ! 

Re-enter  BLOUDOOOD,  followed  by  PUFFY. 
Elood    I  tell  you,  sir,  it  must  be  paid.     I  Lave  given  you  plen'y  of 


Puffy.  You  gave  me  the  time  necessary  for  vou  to  obtain  execution 
In  the  Marine  Court. 

Blood.  Alida,  my  love,  there  is  a  draft  for  the  money.  [Gives  A*r 
*x,ies.  She  takes  them.]  And  now,  will  you  do  me  a  favor  7  Do  not 
te  seen  about  so  much,  in  public,  with  that  foreign  Duke. 

Alida.  I  nevei  ask  you  for  a  draft  but  you  always  give  me  a  pill  U 
take  with  it. 

Blood.  I  don't  like  him. 

Alida.  I  do  —  bye-bye.  f  Exit. 

Blood.  How  grand  she  looks!     That  girl  possesses  ray  whole  heart 

Pujfy.  Reserve  a  little  for  me,  sir.  This  here  note,  it  \7tis  give  it 
me  by  my  2d  floor  in  payment,  of  rent.  It's  as  good  as  gold,  sir— 
«VMK?  tb«y  are  able  to  pay  it.  I'd  sooner  h»»"  ;i  — 


THE    POOR   ty    NEW    %  UBS.  Ift 

9t**xl.  Mi  Puffy,  you  are  the  worst  kind  of  mar.  you  are  a  *  «.k 
u  iest  fool .  you  are  always  failing — always  the  dupe  of  eonae  ne\, 
•\  ndler 

*vffy.  Lc'd  love  you,  sir  !  if  you  was  to  sea  the  folks  yoo'caJt 
»w  odlers — the  kindest,  purest  2d  floor  as  ever  drew  God's  breatL. 

I 1  Id  thorn  that  this  note  was  all  right — for  if  they  know'd  I  was  pifc. 
*ln  it,  along  of  it,  I  believe  they'd  sell  the  clothes  off  their  backs  tw 
pa?  it. 

&'<ood  [Atide.]  This  fellow  is  a  fool  But  I  see,  if  I  levy  execo- 
iten  the  note  will  be  paid.  [Aloud.]  Very  good,  Mr.  Puffy.  I  will  sea 
ibo,,t,  it. 

P  \ffy.  You  will !  I  knew  it — there— when  folks  says  you're  ahari 
raan  -I  says — no — no  more'n  a  rich  man's  got  to  be. 

B->od.  Vary  good.  [Aside.]  I'll  put  an  execution  on  1  is  house  at 
once  \Aloud.]  Good  morning,  Mr.  Puffy.  [Exit. 

P*  ffy.  Good  jiorning,  sir.  So,  I'm  floated  off  that  mud  bank, 
Lord  '  if  he  had  seized  my  goods  and  closed  mo  up — I'd  never  a 
dare<  to  look  Mrs.  Fairweather  in  the  face  agin.  [Exit. 

ICE?  I'E  III. — The  interior  of  PUPPY'S  house.     A  poor  but  neat 

roc  n — window    at    back.  MRS.    FAIRWEATHKE    is    arranging 
dii  ner. 

Enter  LUCY,  with  a  box. 

LT*  /y.  My  dear  mother. 

Mi  i.  F.  My  darling  Lucy.  Ah,  your  eye  is  bright  again.  Tht 
thouj  ht  of  seeing  Mark  Livingstone  has  revived  your  smile. 

L^y.  I  have  seen  him.     He  and  Paul  called  at  Madame  Victorine's, 

Mrs.  F.  Is  your  work  over,  Lucy,  already! 

Li>sy.  What  we  expected  has  arrived,  mother.  This  dress  is  th« 
last  1  shall  receive  from  Madame  Victorine — she  is  discharging  her 
hands. 

Mrs.  F.  More  misfortunes — and  Paul  has  not  been  able  to  obtain 
employment.  [A  knock. 

Enter  MBS.  PPPFY. 

Mrs  P  May  I  come  in  ?  it's  only  Mrs.  PuCy.  I've  been  over  th« 
oven  for  two  hours!  Knowing  you  had  company — I've  got  a  pigeon 
pie — such  a  pie ! — urn — oo — nmtton  kidneys  in  it — and  hard  biled 
eggs — love  ye! — then  I've  got  a  chicken,  done  up  a  way  of  my  own  ! 

I 11  got  on  a  clean  gown  and  serve  it  up  myself. 

Mrs.  F.  But  my  dear  Mrs.  Puffy — really  we  did  not  n>?au  to  incui 
any  expense 

Mrs.  P.  Expense!  why,  wasn't  them  pigecns  goin'  to  waste— 
they  was  shot  by  Dan — and  we  can't  abide  pigeons,  neither  Puffy  ncf 
'!.  Then  the  rooster  was  running  round — always  *-B.i$iu'  hereaflet 
•arly  in  the  morniii' — a  noosance,  it  was 

Enter  V\y 
Beg  p&rdou  ladioa — I  just  stepped  ia- 


I«  TUB  room  or  »iw  Tost. 


rf.iy,  I>:ui. 

Dan.  Day,  uiss!  —  [_4sufr  fc;  Alas.  PUKFY.]  Uh  !  mother,  ain't  ah» 
pootty  this  iiioinin'. 

Jfrs.  P.  [SnioorfAt/iy  kerlutir.]  What,  have  you  got  there,  Dau'el  ' 

J9an.  When  1  was  |,ayi»i;  '.he  man  for  the'n  birds  —  [Mus.  P.  kickt 
kim\  —  Creation  !  uiotlier  —  you're  like  thr  stocks  —  you  can't  move 
fc'thout  crushir.  somebody  —  well,  he'd  got  this  here  pair  o'  booU 
•ruder  hi?  arm  —  why,  ses  I,  if  ever  der  was  a  foot  created  small 
•nough  to  go  iuto  them,  thar,  it  is  Miss  Lucy's  —  so  I  brought  them  fo" 
f  ou  to  look  at. 

Lucy.  They  are  too  dear  for  me,  Dan,  pray  g've  them'bacic. 

Dan.  Well,  ye  see  —  the  man  lias  kinder  gone,  Miss  —  he  said  Wd 
call  again  —  some  time  next  fall  — 

Mrs.  F.  Dan  —  Mrs.  Puffy  —  you  are  good,  kind,  dear  souls  —  when 
the  friends  of  our  bettar  days  ha/e  deserted  us  —  when  the  r-ch  will 
scarcely  deign  to  remember  us  —  you,  without  any  design,  but  with  the 
goodness  of  God  in  your  hearts  —  without  any  hope  but  that  of  hiding 
your  kindness,  you  help  me.  Give  me  your  hands  —  1  owe  you  too 
much  already  —  but  you  must  bestow  011  us  uo  more  out  of  your 
poverty. 

Mrt.  P.  Lord,  Mrs  !  just  as  if  rue  and  Puffy  could  bestow  any  - 
thing  —  rnd  what's  Dan  fit  for  7 

Dan.  Yea  —  what's  I'm  lit  for! 

Mrs.  F.  Well,  1  will  accept  your  dinner  to-day  on  one  condition-  - 
that  you  viil  all  diue  with  us. 

Mrs.  P.  Oh  —  my  !     Dine  with  up-town  folks  ! 

Lufy.  \rs  indeed,  Dan.  you  must. 

Dan.  Lord,  miss!  I  aint  no  account,  at  dinin'  with  folks  —  I  tak« 
my  food  on  the  fust  pile  of  bricks,  anyhow. 

Mrs.  P.  I'm  accustomed  to  mine  standin',  behind  the  counter. 

Dan.  We  never  set  down  to  it,  square  out  —  except  on  Sundays. 

Mrs.  P.  Then  it  don't  seem  natural  —  we  never  eat,  each  of  us  u 
employed  a  helping  of  the  other. 

Dan.  I'll  fix  it!  father,  and  mother,  and  I,  will  all  wait  on  you. 

Lucy.  [Laayhi\g.\  That's  one  way  of  dining  together,  certainly. 

Enter  PAUL  and  LIVINGSTONE. 

LH>.  Here  wo  are.     Why.  what  a  comfortable  little  cage  this  is  ! 

Dan.  Let  me  take  your  coat  and  hat,  sir. 

Liv.  Thank  you.  (  Exit  DAN  and  MRS.  PDKFY.]  How  like  the  old 
times,  eh,  Lucy  1  [Sits  by  her. 

Mrs.  F.  [Aside  to  PAIL.]  Well,  Paul,  have  you  obtained  employ 
meet? 

Paid.  No,  mother;  but  Livingstone  is  rich  —  he  must  have  influence, 
%nd  be  will  assist  me. 

Mrs.  F.  Heaven  help  us  i     I  fear  that  the  worst  is  not  coma 

Paul  Nonsense,  mother-  cheer  up  !  Is  there  anything  you  ha?« 
rx:ncealed  from  me  1 

Mrt.  F.  No  —  nothing  you  need  Kuoir.  .  A«rlr.l  *f  b  »  l«w»w  that  fo< 
HTQ  weeks  we  have  been  »ul>ri*uua  o»  tUc  clxritr  01  th^sr  poo* 
people* 


*HB    POOR    OF    KEVT    YORK.  fl 

•Urr  MRS.  PFFFY  w^/i  a  pie.  followed  by  DAS  with  a  roast  ckitkt* 
and  PUKPV,  loaded  urith  vlates  and  various  articles  of  (font* 
service. 

Mrs.  P.  Here  it  is. 

Lucy.  Stay — we  must  lay  more  covers ;  help  me,  Paul. 

Liv.  Let  me  assist  you.          [  They  join  another  table  to  the  fyst, 

Mrs.  F.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Puffy  and  Dan  dine  with  us. 

Paul.  Bravo ! 

Liv.  Hail  Columbia  '  [DAH  begins  dancing  about. 

Lucy    Why,  Dan — wnat's  the  matter  ? 

Dan.  On,  nothing,  iruw. 

Lucy.  How  red  your  face  is ! 

Dan.  Don't  mind,  miss. 

Mrs.  P.  Oh  Lord  !  I  forgot  that  dish;  it  has  been  in  the  oven  fo» 
in  hour. 

Dan.  It  aint  at  all  hot.  [PAUL  touches  it  and  jumps  away.]  It' 
jot  to  burn  into  the  bone  afore  George  Washington^Nc.  4  gives  in. 

[Lays  down  the  plate — thry  all  sii. 

Pfjfy.  Now,  this  is  agreeable — 1  have  not  felt  so  happy  since  I 
iiarted  my  forty  horse  power  oven. 

Lie.  This  pie  is  magnificent.  fMns.  PCFFY  rises. 

Mrs.  P.  Oh,  sir,  you  tnake  me  feel  good. 

Dan  \  Holding  the  table.  |  Mother  can't  express  her  feelings  with 
oat  upsetting  the  table. 

Enter  two  SHERIFF'S  OFFICERS. 

Paul.  What  persons  are  these? 

Puffy    What  do  you  want? 

First  Sheriff's  Officer.  I  am  the  Deputy  Sheriff— I  come  atth«  sul 
of  Gideon  Bloodgood,  against  Susan  Fainveather  and  Jonas  Puffy — 
Amount  of  debt  and  costs,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

Paul.  My  mother  I 

Puffy.  He  said  he  would  see  about  it — Oh,  Mrs.  Fainveathei  ~I 
bope  you  will  forgive  me — I  could'nt  help  it. 

Dtpuiy  Sheriff.  I  do  not  want  to  distress  you;  Mr.  Livingnston* 
will  perhaps  pay  the  debt — or  give  me  his  check. 

Paul  Livingstone ! 

Liv.  [After  a  pause.]  I  cannot  help  you.  Yes,  I  will  rather  appea? 
what  lam,  a  ruined  man,  than  seem  a  contemptible  one- -I  am  put 
rdloss,  broken — f  >r  weeks  1  have  been  so — but  Inevei  J&ll  my  pcverty 

Tableau. 
KID  or  ACT  a 

*1 


A 


THR     POOB    07    KBW    YORK 


JftJENE. — A  Room  tit  the  house  ufQiosoy  BLOODOOOD,  the  fu.-nitvrt 
and  ornaments  are  in  a  style  of  exaggerated  richness  white  taint 
and  gold.  BLOODGOOD  is  discovered  writing  at  a  table  on  one  sidf 
ALIDA  seated  reading  a  newspaper  on  the  other. 

Blood.  What  are  you  reading? 

\lida.  The  New  York  Herald. 

Blood.  You  seem  interested  in  it  7 

Alida.  Very.     Shall  I  read  aloud  1 

Blood.  Do.  f  Goes  on  writing. 

Alida.  [Reads.}  "  Wall  street  is  a  perch,  on  which  a  row  of  humai 
rnltures  sit,  whetting  tiieir  beaks,  ready  to  fight  over  the  carcass  of; 
d/ing  enterprise.  Amongst  these  birds  of  prey,  the  most  vulturous  i 
perhaps  Qid  Bloodgood.  This  popular  financier  made  his  fortune  ii 
the  lottery  business.  He  then  dabbled  a  little  in  the  slave  trade,  tv 
the  Paraqui la  case  proved, — iast  week  by  a  speculation  in  flour  In 
made  fifty  thousand  dollars,  this  operation  raised  the  price  of  breat 
four  cents  a  loaf,  and  now  there  are  a  thousand  people  starving  in  tht 
hovels  of  New  York — we  nominate  Qid  for  Congress,  expenses  to  be 
paid  by  the  admiring  crowd — send  round  the  hat."  Father!  [Rises.  J 
Are  \ou  not  rich  1 

JSloaSf.  Why  do  you  ;tsk  '! 

Alida.  Because  people  say  that  riches  are  worshipped  in  New  York 
that  wealth  alone  graduates  society.  This  is  false,  for  I  am  young, 
handsome  and  your  heiress — yet  I  arn  refused  admission  into  the  best 
families  here  whose  intimacy  I  have  sought. 

Blood.  Refused  admission  !     Is  not  Fifth  Avenue  open  to  you  1 

Alida.  Fifth  Avenue  !  that  jest  is  stale.  Fifth  Avenue  is  a  shop 
where  the  richest  fortunes  are  displayed  like  the  dry  goods  in  Stew- 
art's windows,  and  like  them,  too,  are  changed  daily.  But  why  do  we 
not  visit  those  families  at  whose  names  all  men  and  all  journals  bow 
with  respect,  ihe  Livingstones,  the  Astors,  Van  Benssalaers.  Father, 
these  families  receive  men.  less  rich  than  you — and  honor  many  g:na 
Who  don't  dress  as  well  as  I  do,  nor  keep  a  carriage. 

Blood.  Is  not  the  Duke  of  Caicavella  at  iuy  feet  ? 

Alida.  The  Duke  de  Caicavella  is  an  adventurer  to  whom  you  lend 
money.  who  escorts  me  to  my  box  at  the  ope  "a  that  he  may  get  ic 
tree. 

Blood.  Yon  minx,  you  know  you  love  him. 

Alida.    \  a.:,  no;  speaking  of  love — but  of  marriage. 

Blood.  Marriage : 

Y^s,  marnagp !     This  society  in  New  York  which  has  shut 
it  iu  from  amongst  these  families   that   I  hav« 
loo-e  a  .husband. 


Hs  doors 
jMolved  tc> 


Blood.  [ Rising.]  Alida,  do  you  already  yearn  to  leave  me  7  Fo? 
fou  alone  I  have  hoarded  my  wealth — men  have  thought  me  miserly, 
when  i  U5*e  had  but  one  treasure  iu  the  wor'd.  and  that  was  yo'i  n. 


•Hiy  child.  To  the  rest  of  my  fellow  creatures  I  have  We  cold  anft 
tklculating,  because  in  you  alone  was  buried  all  the  love  my  hoiH 
could  feel— my  fortune,  take  it,  gratify  your  caprices— take  it  all,  bm 
leave  me  vour  afl'ection. 

Alida.  You  talk  as  if  I  were  still  a  child. 

Blood.  I  would  to  God  you  were !  Oh,  Alida,  if  you  ku*w  •»» 
fearful  a  thing  it  is  for  a  man  like  me  to  lose  the  only  thing  k  V* 
'  orld  that  ties  him  to  it ! 

Alida.  Do  you  wish  me  to  marry  the  Duke  de  Calcavella  1 

Blood.  A  rente,  a  gambler  !     Heaven  forbid ! 

Alida.  Besides,  they  say  he  has  a  wife  in  Italy. 

Blood.  I  shall  forbid  him  the  house. 

Alida.  No,  you  won't. 

Blood.  His  reputation  will  compromise  yours. 

Alida.  Judge  my  nature  by  your  own — I  may  blush  from  angei  •  - 
aever  from  shame. 

Enter  EDW-ARDS 

Edw.  Mr.  Mark  Livingstone. 

A'.KM.  Livingstone!  this  is  the  first  time  that  name  has  ever  been 
luuoanced  in  this  house. 

Blood.  He  comes  on  business.  Tell  Mr.  Livingstone  I  cannot  IK* 
him.  Beg  him  to  call  at  ray  office  to-morrow. 

Alida.  Show  him  up. 

3lood.  Alida! 

Alida.  [Sharply  to  EDWARDS.]  Do  you  hear  me  1 

Blood.  This  is  tyranny — I — I — [In  a  rage  to  EDWARDS.]  Well, 
blockhead,  why  do"  you  stand  staring  there '(  Don't  you  hear  the 
order!  Show  him  up.  [Exit  EDWARDS. 

Alida.  Livingstone ! 

Enter  MAKE.  LIVINGSTONE. 

Mark.  Mr.  Bloodgood— Miss  Bloodgood— [Bows.]  I  am  most  for- 
tunate to  find  you  at  home. 

Alida.  I  trust  that  Mrs.  Livingstone  your  mother,  and  Miss  Living- 
•tcQO  your  sister,  are  well  1 

Mark.  [Coldly.]  I  thank  you.  \  Gaily. \  Allow  me  to  assure  yon 
that  you  were  the  belle  of  the  opera  last  night. 

Alida.  Yet  you  did  not  flatter  me  with  your  presence  in  onr  box. 

Mark.  You  noticed  my  absence !  you  render  me  the  happiest  and 
yroudes.'  member  of  my  club. 

Alida.  By  the  way,  papa,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  a  mera 
||pr  of  the  Union. 

Mark.  Ahem!  {ya/i  awkward  silenct.]  He  was  black-balled  lar, 
week. 

Blood.  1  think,  Mr.  Livingstone  you  have  soiue  business  with  mo. 

Alida.  Am  I  in  the  way  1 

Mark.  Not  at  all — the  fact  is,  Miss  Bloodgood — my  business  cu 
ie  explained  ir.  three  words 

Blood 


•  THK    POOR    OF    XRW    TOR* 

Mcnk,  1  am  ruined. 

Alida    Ruined  ! 

Mark.  My  father  lived  in  those  days  when  fancy  stocks  were 
known,  and  consequently  was  in  a  position  to  leave  me  a 
tortun«.  I  spent  it — extravagantly — foolishly.  My  mother,  who  love* 
BO  "  not  wisely  but  too  well,"  heard  that,  my  name  was  pledged  f  M 
a  large  amount, — Mr.  Bloodgood  held  my  paper — she  sold  out  all  h* 
fortune  without  my  knowledge,  and  rescued  my  credit  from  dishonor 

Blood.  Allow  mo  to  observe,  1  think  she  acted  honorably,  but  fool 
hhly. 

Mark.  [Bows  to  Bloodgood.]  She  shared  my  father's  ideas  on  thea« 
•tatters;  well,  [turns  to  ALIDA,]  finding  I  was  such  good  pay,  yooi 
lather  lent  me  a  further  sum  of  money,  with  which  I  speculated  it 
•tocks  to  recover  my  mother's  loss — 1  bulled  the  market — lost — bor« 
rowed  more — the  crisis  came — I  lost  again — until  I  found  mysell 
rained. 

Blood.  [Rising.]  Mr.  Livingstone,  I  anticipate  the  object  of  your 
present  visit — you  desire  some  accommodation — I  regret  that  it  is  out 
of  my  power  to  accord  it.  If  you  had  applied  to  me  a  few  days  earlier 
I  might  have  been  able  to — but — a — at  the  present  moment  it  is  quite 
impossible. 

Mark.  [Aside]  Impossible — the  usual  expression — I  am  familiar 
with  it.  [Rising — aloud.]  I  regret  exceedingly  that  I  did  not  fall 
on  that  more  fortunate  moment  to  which  you  allude — a  thousand 
pardons  for  my  untimely  demand 

Blood.  I  hope  you  believe  that  I  am  sincere  when  I  say 

Mark.  Ob  !  1  am  sure  of  it.  Accept  my  thanks — good  morning, 
Miss  Bloodgood. 

Blood.  [Ringing  the  bell.]  I  trust  you  will  not  be  put  to  serioui 
Inconvenience. 

Mark.  Oh,  no.  [Asids.]  A  revolver  will  relieve  me  of  every  diffi- 
culty. [Aloud.]  Good  day,  Mr.  Bloodgood.  [Exit. 

Blood.  1  like  his  impudence !  To  come  to  me  for  assistance !  Lei 
him  seek  it  of  his  aristocratic  friends — his  club  associates  who  black- 
balled me  last  week. 

Alida.  [  Who  has  been  seated  writing  at  table.]  Father,  come  Ler». 

Blood.  What  is  it] 

Alida.  I  am  writing  a  letter  which  I  wish  you  to  sign. 

Blood.  To  whom  ] 

Alida.  To  Mr.  Livingstone. 

Blood.  To  Livingstone  I 

Alida.  Head  it. 

Blood.  [Reads.]  "  My  dear  sir,  give  yoarself  no  further  anxiety 
about  your  dobt  to  me  ;  I  will  see  that  your  notes  are  paid — and  if  thi 
lean  often  thousand  dollars  will  serve  you,  I  beg  to  hold  that  amonU 
•t  your  service,  to  be  repaid  at  your  convenience.  Yours  truly,' 
\Th/rowtnq  down  letter.]  I  will  write  nothing  of  the  kind 

Alida.  You  are  mistaken — you  will  write  ue  tiling  «l*e 

Blof'd   With  what  object  1 

Anda.  I  want  to  make  a  purchase. 

Ax*    of  what  •» 


i 


•»«  POOK  OF  >KW  YORK.  2) 

Alia**  Of  a  husband — a  husband  who  is  a  gentleman — and  through 
*hom  I  can  ^ahi  that  position  yon  cannot  with  all  your  wealth 
ittain — y^u  joe — the  tiling  is  cheap — there's  the  pen. 

[She  rings  a  bell 

Blood.  Is  your  mind  so  set  on  this  ambition  1 

Alida.  If  it  cost  half  your  fortune.  [BLOODOCOD  ngn». 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

;  To  servant.}  Deliver  this  letter  immediately. 

Edw.  \  Takes  the  letter  and  is  going  out,  when  he  runt  againsi 
BADQBB,  who  is  coolly  entering.}  I  have  told  you  already  that  my 
naster  is  not  to  be  seen. 

Bad.  So  you  did — but  yon  see  how  mistaken  you  were.  There  h« 
to — I  can  see  him  distinctly. 

Blood.  Badger!  [To  EDWARDS.]  You  may  go,  Edwards. 

Bad.  [To  EDWARDS.]  James — get  out. 

Blood.  What  can  he  want  here! 

Bad.  Respected  Gideon,  excuse  my  not  calling  more  promptly,  but 
•ince  my  return  from  California,  this  is  my  first  appearance  in  fashioo 
tble  society. 

Alida.  [Proudly.]  Who  is  this  fellow  1 

Bad.  Ah,  Alida,  how  is  the  little  tootles  1     You  forget  me. 

Alida.  How  can  I  recollect  every  begging  imposter  who  importunes 
my  father. 

Bad.  Charming !  The  same  as  ever — changed  in  form — but  the 
beart,  my  dear  Gideon,  the  same  ever,  is  hard  and  dry  as  a  biscuit. 

Alida.  Father,  give  this  wretch  a  dollar  and  let  him  go. 

Bad.  Hullo!  Miss  Bloodgood,  when  I  hand  round  the  hat  it  is  time, 
•uough  to  put  something  in  it.    Gideon,  ring  a&J  send  that  girl  of 
yours  to  her  nurse. 

Alida.  Is  this  fellow  mad  1 

Blood.  Hush  !  my  dear ! 

Alida.  Speak  out  your  bus  mesa — I  am  familiar  with  all  my  faLh- 
ir's  affairs. 

Bad.  All  1  I  doubt  it 

Enter  EDWA.B.DS,  followed  by  LOOT. 

Edw.  This  way,  Miss.  [To  ALIDA.]  Here  is  your  dress  uaker. 

Alida.  [Eyeing  LUCY.]  Ha!  you  are  the  young  person  I  met  thU 
»oruing  walking  with  Mr.  Livingstone? 

T.ucy.  Yes,  madam. 

Alida.  Hum !  follow  me,  and  let  me  see  if  you  can  attend  on  ladiiw 
*«  diligently  as  you  do  on  gentlemen.  [Exeunt  AI.IDA  and  Lror. 

Blood.  [Looking  inquiringly  at  BADGES.]  So  you  are  here  again. 
1  thought  you  were  dead. 

Bad.  No ;  here  I  am — like  a  bad  shilling,  come  back  aaain.  I' v« 
been  all  over  the  world  bince  we  parted  twenty  years  ago.  Your  8,000 
dollars  laited  me  for  some  months  in  California.  Believe  me,  had  1 
know -i  tMt,  ijntead  of  absconding,  you  remained  in  New  York,  1 
*ouli?  b»vt  fastened  back  again  ton  years  ago.  to  ahar*  your  rsrivw) 


THB    FUOit    OP    NKH     TOB&. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  your  allusions,  air, — nor  d  >  i 
Know  the  object  of  your  return  to  this  city.  We  have  plenty  of  suck 
persons  as  you  in  New  York. 

Bad.  The  merchants  of  San  Francisco  did  not  IhJnk  so,  foi  th*y 
inbscribed  to  send  me  home. 

Blood.  What  do  you  mean  1 

Bad.  I  mean  the  Vigilance  Committee. 

Blood.  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  here? 

Bad.  Reduced  in  circumstances  and  witt^nt  character,  the  on)) 
resource  left  to  me  is  to  start  a  bank. 

Blood,  Weil,  Mr  Badger ;  I  cannot  see  in  what  way  these  thing* 
can  affect  me ! 

Bad.  Can't  you  1  Ahem !  Do  yon  evor  read  the  Sunday 
papers  1 

Blood.  Never. 

Bad.  I've  got  a  romance  ready  for  one  of  them — allow  me  to  give 
you  a  sketch  of  it. 

Blood.  Sir—  t  • 

Bad.  The  scone  opens  in  a  bank  in  Nassau  street.  Twenty  years  ago 
a  rery  respectable  old  sea  captain,  one  winter's  night,  makes  a  special 
deposit,  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars — nobody  present  but  the 
banker  and  one  clerk.  Th«  old  captain  takes  a  receipt  and  goes  on 
his  way  rejoicing — but,  lo !  and  behold  you ! — in  half  an  hour  he  re 
turns — having  ascertained  a  fact  or  two,  he  demands  his  money  bacA, 
but  while  receiving  it  he  is  seized  by  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  cind  he  die* 
on  the  spot.  End  of  Chapter  One.  * 

Blood.  Indeed,  Mr.  Badger,  your  romance  is  quite  original. 

Bad.  Ain't  it!  never  "heard  it  before,  did  you  1 — no!  Good! 
Chapter  Two.  [Pointedly.]  The  banker  and  his  clerk  carried  the  body 
ont  on  the  sidewalk,  where  it  was  discovered,  and  the  next  day  th« 
Coroner's  Jury  returned  a  verdict  accordingly.  The  clerk  receiv- 
ing 3,000  dollars  hush  money  left  for  parts  unknown  The  ban- 
ker remained  in  New  York,  and  on  the  profits  of  this  plunder  es- 
tablished a  colossal  fortune.  End  of  Part  No.  1 — to  be  continued  iu 
our  next. 

Blood.  And  what  do  you  suppose  such  a  romance  will  be  worth  7 

Bad.  I've  come  to  you  to  know. 

Blood.  I  am  no  judge  of  that. 

Bad.  Ain't  you  1 — well — in  Part  No.  2,1  propose  to  relate  that  tbii 
history  is  true  iu  every  particular,  and  I  shall  advertise  for  the  heiii 
of  the  dead  man. 

Blood.  Ha !  you  know  his  name  then  1, 

Bad,  Yos.  but  I  see  you  don't.  I  wrote  tho  acknowledgment  wLiak 
you  signed — yon  had  not  even  the  curiosity  then  to  read  the  name  o' 
ycur  victim. 

Blood.  Really,  Mr.  Badger,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you.  Do 
you  mean  to  insinuate  that  this  romance  applies  in  any  way  to  toe  1 

Bad.  It  has  a  distant  reference. 

Blood.  Youi  memory  is  luxurious — perhaps  it  can  furnish  soutf 
o«tter  evidence  of  this  wonderful  story  than  the  word  of  a  convict 
tjected  from  California  as  a  precaution  of  public  safety, 


THK    POOB   OP    HEW    TOUR  IE 

Bad.  You  ara  right — my  word  is  not  worth  much. 

Blood.  I  fear  not. 

Sad.  But  the  receipt,  signed  by  you,  ie  worth  a  good  daal 

Bleed.  [Starting.]  Ha!  you  lie! 

Bad.  Let  us  proceed  with  my  romance.  When  the  banker  nud  h» 
al^rk  searched  for  the  receipt,  they  could  not  find  it-  -a  circumst»n« 
*vhicli  only  astonished  one  of  the  villains — because  the  clerk  ba<? 
3?.ckecJ  up  the  document  and  secured  it  in  his  pocket.  I  dou't  mean  k, 
jecinup  *e  that  this  applies  in  any  way  to  you. 

Blood.  Villain! 

Bad.  Moral :  As  a  general  rule,  never  destroy  receipts— it  is  no 
nowirg  when  they  may  not  prove  useful. 

Blocd.  Were  it  so,  this  receipt  is  of  no  value  iu  your  hande — tha 
heirs  of  the  dead  man  can  alone  establish  a  claim. 

Bad..  [Rising.]  That's  the  point — calculate  the  chaste  of  my  flrd 
tug  them,  and  let  me  know  what  it  is  worth. 

Blood.  What  do  you  demand  1 

Sad.  Five  thousand  dollars. 

Blood.  Five  thousand  devils! 

Bad.  You  refuse  1 

flood.  I  defy  you — find  the  heir  if  you  can. 

Enter  EDWARI>*. 
Edu>.  Mr.  Paul  Fairweather ! 
Enter  PAUL.     BADOER  starts,  thenfaUs  laughing  »n  a  tkavr. 

Blood.  Your  business,  sir,  with  me. 

Paul.  Oh.  pardon  me,  Mr.  Bloodgood — but  the  officerg  have  seized 
ihe  furniture  of  our  landlord — of  your  tenant — for  a  debt  owed  by  inj 
Bother.  I  come  to  ask  your  mercy — utter  ruin  awaits  two  poor  fam 
ilios. 

Bad.  Oh,  Supreme  Justice!  there  is  the  creditor,  and  there  is  tha 
dsbtor. 

Paul.  My  mother — ray  sister— I  plead  for  them,  not  for  myself 

Blood.  \  have  waited  lone  enough.  . 

Bad.  [Rising.]  So  have  I.  [To  PADL.J  Itaw  you  no  friend*  or  i*- 
latioi  s  to  help  you  1 

faul.  None,  sir  ;  my  father  is  dead. 

[BLOODGOOD  returns  to  hu  table. 

Bloat.   Enough  of  this.  'Rings  the  bell. 

Bad.  Not  quite ;  I  feel  interested  in  this  vcung  gentleman — dot 

n>u  ? 

Blijod.  Net  at  all ;  therefore  my  servant  will  show  you  both  out— 
,4-ou  raay  talk  this  matter  over  elsewhere. 
Jyad.  [To  PAL'I.]  Your  name  is  famtliar  to  me — was  your  father  it 

lo? 

fetus.  He  was  a  s*a  captain. 

tad.  Ah  1  he  died  nobly  in  some  storm.  I  sunpose—  thf  last  to  k«vt 


THE    POOB    OP    MEW    TOkC 

Pttvl.  N  ,  sir,  he  d5«d  miserably  !  i»n  years  ago,  bis  bodj  m* 
•rand  on  the  sidewalk  iu  Liberty  street,  where  he  fell  d«ad  by  *{MI 
plexy. 

tOoaJL  [Ruing.]  Ah! 

Ente-  EDWABDB. 

Sad   James,  show  us  out — we'll  talk  over  this  matter  else  w  her* 

Blood.  No — you — you  can  remain.     Leave  us,  Edwards. 

Sad.  Ah,  I  told  you  that  the  young  man  was  quite  interesthg 
^Iphonsf,  get  out.  [Exit  EDWABEB. 

Blood.  My  dear  Mr.  Badger,  1  think  wo  have  a  little  business  U 
Krttle  together! 

Bad.  Yes,  my  dear  Gideon.  [Aside  to  him.]  Stocks  have  gone  up~ 
T  want  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  that  receipt. 

Blood.  Fifty  thousand ! 

Bad.  [Aside.]  You  see  the  effect  of  good  news  on  the  market, 
quite  astounding  ;  ain't  it  1       C '  ° 

Blood  If  you  will  step  down  to  the  dining-room,  yon  will  find  luncl 
prepared — refresh  yourself,  while  I  see  what  can  be  done  for  thi« 
young  man. 

Bad.  [Aridt.]  What  are  you  up  to1  You  want  to  fix  him-- 
to  try  some  game  to  euchre  me.  Go  it !  I've  got  the  receipt ;  you'r* 
on  the  hook — takeout  all  the  line  you  want.  \CaJls.}  Ho!  without 
there ! 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

Maximilian,  vanios!    Show  me  to  the  banqnetting-hall. 

[Exit,  with  EDWABDB. 

Blood.  Your  situation  interests  me ;  but  surely,  at  your  age — yoi 
can  find  employment. 

Paul.  Alas,  sir,  in  theW  times,  it  is  impossible.  I  would  work 
yes,  at  ar.y  kind  of  labor — submit  to  anything,  if  I  could  save  mj 
moi  her  and  my  sister  from  want. 

Blood.  Control  your  feelings  :   perhaps  I  can  aid  you. 

Paul.  Oh,  sir,  1  little  expected  to  find  in  you  a  benefactor. 

Blood.  My  correspondents  at  Rio  Janeiro  require  a  book-keoper- 
are  you  prepared  to  accept  this  situation  1  but  there  is  a  condition 
Attached  to  this  employment  that  may  not  suit  you — you  most  stai 
by  the  vessel  which  sails  to-morrow. 

Paul.  To-morrow ! 

Blood.  I  will  hand  you  a  thousand  dollars  in  advance  of  salary,  If 
provide  for  your  mother  and  sister ;  they  had  better  leave  this  citj 
Wtil  they  can  follow  you.  You  hesitate. 

Paul.  Oh,  sir,  'tis  my  gratitude  that  renders  me  silent. 

Blood    You  airept  7  the  t«rms  are  two  thousand  dollars  a  year. 

Paul.  [Seizing  hu  hand.]  Mr.  Bloodgood,  the  prayers  of  a  faff^  » 
whom  you  have  made  happy,  will  prosjxjr  your  life.     God  bless  yon 
sir  !  I  s[>eak  not  for  mysalf,  but  for  those  still  more  dear  to  me. 

Blood.  Call  again  in  an  hour,  when  your  papers  of  introduction  and 
Ihe  monoy  shall  be  ready. 

Paul    Farewell,  air.     1  can  scarcely  believe  my  good  fortune  ffittf 


THB    FOOR    OF    »EW    TOBK.  J» 

Blood.  Sc,  now  to  secure  Badger.  [Sitting down  and  writing.]  H« 
must,  at  any  risk,  be  prevented  from  communicating  with  the  mother 
»nd  daughter  until  they  can  be  sent  into  some  obscure  retreat.  I 
doubt  that  he  is  in  possession  of  this  receipt,  [rings  a  bell,]  but  1 
wUl  telce  an  assurance  about  that.  [Ringt. 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

take  this  letter  instantly  to  the  office  of  the  Superintendent  of  Polio* 

Sni  EDWARDS.]   Ha!   Badger,  when   you  find    the    heirs  of   th* 

estate    gone,  you    will   perhaps   come   down  in  your  terms.     You 

iid  not  remain  long  enough  in  California  to  measure  wits  with  Gidooc 

Bloodgood.  \Exit 

Enter  LUCY. 

f/ucy  I  will  do  my  best,  miss,  to  please  you.  On,  et  me  hastet 
from  this  house ! 

Enter  MARK  LiviifosToss. 
Mark.  Lucy ! 
Lucy.  Mark ! 

Mark.  What  brings  yon  here  7 
Lucy.  What  brings  the  poor  into  the  saloons  cf  the  rich  1 

Enter  ALIDA,  unseen,  by  the  others. 

Alt  da.  [Aside.]  Mr.  Livingstone  here,  and  with  this  girl! 

Mark.  My  dear  Lucy  I  have  news,  bright  news,  that  will  light  op 
a  nmie.  in  your  eyes — I  am  once  more  rich.  But  liefore  I  relate  mj 
good  fortune,  let  me  hear  from  you  the  consent  to  share  it. 

Lucy.  What  do  you  mean  1 

Murk.  I  mean,  deaiest  one.  that  I  love  you — I  love  you  with  all  my 
reckless,  foolish,  worthless  heart. 

AUda.  [Advancing.]  Mr.  Livingstone;  n^ father  is  waiting  for  you 
Ji  his  study. 

Mark.  A  thousand  pardons,  Miss  Bloodgood ;  I  was  not  aware-— 
excuse  me.  [Aside.]  I  wonder  if  she  overheard  me.  [T<>  LPCY.]  I  will 
8t?e  you  again  this  evening.  [Exit. 

Alida.  [To  LUCY,  who  is  going.]  Stay;  one  word  with  yon.  Mr. 
Livingtone  loves  you  7  do  not  deny  it,  I  have  overheard  you. 

Lucy.  Well,  Miss  Bloodgood.  I  have  no  account,  to  render  you  ii 
'1  is  matter. 

A'ida.  I  beg  your  pardon — he  is  to  be  my  husbaud. 

Lucy.  Your  husband  ] 

Altda,  Ee  quiet  and  listen.  Mr.  Livingstone  is  ruined — ray  father 
-*s  come  to  his  aid  ;  but  one  word  from  me,  and  the  hand,  extended 
'<•  save  him  from  destruction,  will  be  withdrawn. 

Lucy.  But  you  will  not  8)>eak  that  word  1 

Ahda.  That  depends 

Lucy.  OD  what  1  hK  acceptance  of  your  hand  7  ho  dost  not  lowi 
pou. 

Alida    That  is  not  the  question. 

You  have  overheard  that  he  !ov«  vu. 

lliaa.  That  is  no  concern  of  mine. 


K  THB    POOH    09    SSU     fOUK. 

Lucy.  And  you  will  coldly  buy  Ijhis  man  for  a  husband, 
that  you  condemn  him  to  eternaljnisery  ! 

Alida.  Tou  are  candid,  but  not  complimentary.  Let  on  hope  tiiai 
in  time  he  will  forget  you,  and  learn  to  endure  me. 

Lucy.  Oh,  you  do  not  love  him.  I  see,  it  is  his  name  yon  require 
to  cover  the  shame  which  stains  your  father's,  and  which  all  his  •sealtb 
f*nnot  conceal.  Thank  Heaven  !  his  love  foi  mo  A  ill  preserve  hiw 
»¥om  such  a  cowardly  scheme. 

Alida.  I  will  make  him  rich.     What  would  v»«  nuke  him  7 

lAtcy.  I  would  make  him  happy. 

Alida.  Will  you  give  him  up  1 

Lucy.  Never  ! 

Alida.  Be  it  so. 

Re-enter  MARK. 

Mark  Lucy,  dear  Lucy,  do  you  see  that  lad.  "-^ehe  is  my 
gnardian  angel.  To  her  I  owe  my  good  fortune — Mr.  K»  >cdt,ood  ha* 
lold  me  all,  and  see,  this  letter  is  in  her  own  handwriting-  now,  let 
me  confess.  Miss  Bloodgood,  that  had  I  not  teen  thus  robir»ed  from 
ruin,  1  had  no  other  resource  but  a  Colt's  revolver. 

Lucy.  Mark  ! 

Mark.  Yes,  Lucy — I  had  resolved  I  could  not  endure  th  ''jam* 
and  despair  which  beset  me  on  all  sides.  But  let  us  not  talk  <  >  mob 
madness — let  us  only  remember  that  I  owe  her  my  life. 

Alida.  [Aside.]  And  I  intend  to  claim  the  debt. 

Mark.  More  than  my  life — I  owe  to  her  all  that  happineia  \  * '  % 
you  will  bestow  upon  me. 

Lucy.  Me  !  me  ! — Mark ! — No,  it  is  impossible. 

Mark.  Impossible ! 

Lucy.  I  cannot  be  your. .wife. 

Mark.  What  n^ean  you,  Lucy? 

Lufy.  [  With  a  supreme  effort.}  I — I  do  not  love  you. 

Mark.  You  je.'t,  Lucy — yet,  no — there  are  tears  in  yoor  eyes 

Lucy.  [Looking  away.]  Did  I  ever  tell  yon  that  I  loved  yon'* 

Mark.  No,  it  is  true — but  your  manner,  your  looks,  I  thought— 

Lucy.  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  1 

Mark.  I  love  you  too  sincerely  for  that,  arid  believe  me  1  will  nevtt 
*ntrude  again  on  your  family,  where  my  presence  now  can  only  pro- 
duce pain  and  restraint :  may  I  hope,  however,  that  you  will  retain 
enough  kindness  towards  ine.  as  to  persuade  your  mother  to  accept 
my  friendship  1  It  will  soothe  the  angvJsh  you  have  innocently  in- 
Sicted,  if  your  family  will  permit  me  to  assist  them.  Have  you  t.b.« 
generosity  to  make  this  atonement?  I  know  it  will  pain  you  ail- 
but  you  owe  it  to  me.  [Lncv/oIZs,  weeping,  in  a  cka\r.]  Pardon  mo; 
Miss  Bloodgood.  Farewell,  Lucv.  [To  ALIRA.]  I  take  my  leave. 

I  Exit. 

Alida.  He  has  gone — you  may  dry  your  eyes. 

Lucy.  Oh !  I  know  what  starvation  is — I  have  met  want  fa<:«  to 
face,  and  I  have  saved  him  from  that  torrlble  extremity. 

Alida.  He  offer«d  vou  rooucv;   I    nb->nld  trefer  that  my  huab:  ^ 


THE    POUR    OK    JfBW 


r. 


Should  i.ot  have  pecuniary  relations  with  you — at  least,  not  at  pr«» 
•tit — so,  as  you  aro  in  waul — here  is  some  assistance. 

[Offers  her  pur te  to  Lrc-T. 

Lucy.  [Rising,}  You  insult  me,  Miss  Bloodgood. 
Alida.  How  can  an  offer  of  money  insult  anybody  7 
Lucy,  You  thought  I  sold  my  heart — no — I  gave  it.     Keep  yooi 
gold,  it  would  soil  my  poverty  ;  yon  have  made  two  fellow-beingj 
•chappy  for  life — God  forgive  you !  [Erit 

Re-enter  BLOODQOOD, 
Blood.  What  is  the  matter,  Alicia  1 

Re-enter  BADGER. 

Bad.  Your  cook  is  perfect,  your  wine  choice.  [lit  pockets  the  xap 
h'».]  Well,  now  suppose  we  do  a  little  business. 

Blood.  [Rings  beli.]  It  is  time  we  began  to  understand  each 
other. 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

Has  that  letter  been  delivered  1 

[EDWARDS  bows,  and  at  a  sign  from  BLOODGOOD,  exit. 

Bad.  Do  you  wish  to  enter  into  particulars  in  the  presence  of  thit 
(harming  creature  ? 

Blood.  Her  presence  will  not  affect  our  business. 

Re-enter  EDWARDS,  and  two  POLICE  OFFICERS. 

Bad.  Just  as  you  please.     What  proposition  have  you  to  make  1 

Blood.  I  propose  to  give  you  into  custody  for  an  attempt  to  extort 
money  by  threats  and  intimidation. 

1st.  Pol.  You  are  our  prisoner. 

Bad.  Arreeldd ! 

Blood.  Let  him  be  searched ;  on  his  person  will  be  found  a  receipt 
•igned  by  me,  which  he  purloined  from  my  desk  yonder. 

Bad.  Well  played,  my  dear  Gideon,  but,  knowing  the  character  of 
iLc  society  into  which  I  was  venturing,  I  left  the  dear  document  oaf* 
a»  home.  Good  morning,  Gid — Miss  Bloodgood,  ynjwj.  General— 
Ookvnai — take  care  of  me.  [Gat*  vp  w«& 


or  *0t  m. 


TBl    FCOR    OK    HHW     r<  KK. 

Ad  &,  3C.& 

ACT  HT. 

8CENF  I.—  Union  Square— Night.     The  jnow  faJtt. 

dtscoeeied,  R.  H.,with  a  pan  of  roasting  chestnut*      P*8t 
crouches  in  a  corner  of  the  street. 

Puffy.  Lord  !  how  cold  it  is.     I  can't  sell  my  chestnuts.     I  thought 
\f  I  posted  myself  just  here,  so  as  to  catch  the  grand  folks  as  they  gc 
TJ»  the  opera,  they  might  fancy  to  take  in  a  pocket-full,  to  eat  daring 
ae  performance. 

KbtfrrDAX ,  with  two  trunks  on  his  shoulders,  followed  by  a  GBICTLBMAB, 

Dan.  There  is  the  hotel.  I'll  wait  here  while  you  see  if  you  can 
jet  a  room  [Exit  GENTLEMAN,  into  hotel. 

Puffy.  Dan,  my  boy,  what  cheer  7 

Dan.  This  is  the  fust  job  I've  had  to-day. 

Puffy-  I'V6  not  taken  a  cent. 

Dan.  Have  you  been  home  to  dinner  1 

Puffy.  No ;  I  took  a  chestnut.  There  wasn't  more  than  enough 
for  the  old  woman  and  you,  so  I  dined  out. 

Dan.  I  wasn't  hungry  much,  so  I  boried  a  bit  o'  'bacca. 

Puffy.  Then  the  old  woman  had  all  the  dinner,  that's  some  comfort — 
one  of  us  had  a  good  meal  to-day. 

Dan.  I  don't  know,  father — she's  just  ugly  enough  to  go  and  pot 
It  by  for  our  supper. 

Enter  MRS.  PDFFT,  with  a  tin  can. 

Puffy.  Her**  she  is. 

Mrs.  P.  Ain't  yon  a  nice  pair  1  For  five  mortal  hours  I've  been 
carry  in'  this  dinner  up  and  down  Broadway. 

Dan.  I  told  you  so. 

Mrs.  P.  You  thought  to  give  old  mother  the  slip,  you  undootiful 
rillin — but  I've  found  ye  both.  Come,  here's  your  suppers — I've 
kept  it  warm  under  my  cloak. 

Puffy-  Lay  the  table  on  the  gentleman's  trunk. 

Dan.  [Looking  into  the  tin  can.]  A  splendid  lump  of  bread,  tnd  * 
shunk  of  beef! 

Puffy    Small  feed  for  three  human  beings. 

Dan.  Here  goes. 

Puffy.  Stay,  Dan.  [Playing  his  hands  over  the  bread.  ]  God  bleu 
ts,  and  pity  the  Poor  of  New  York.  Now,  I'll  share  the  food  in  three. 

Dan  F Pointing  to  PAUL.]  Father,  that  cuss  in  the  corner  then 
tooks  kinder  bad — suppose  you  have  the  food  in  four. 

Mr».  P.  I  don't  want  none.    Give  him  mine — I  ain't  at  all  cold. 

Dan.  Mother,  there's  a  tear  on  the  end  of  your  uose — let  me  break 
(toff. 

Mrt.  P.  Get  out. 

Dan.  [Takit  a  jrim*  of  bread,  and  goes  to  PAUL]  Hello,  stnumr! 
He's  asleep. 


TUB    POOR    OK    M-i-.N      -juIIIU  -1 

Brt  P.  Then  don't  wake  him.     Leave  the  bread  in  his  \.\,     [['A* 
<A«  bread,  softly,  beside  PADL,  a/id  rejoins  the.  party- — </i«y  oat 

Enter  a  GBSTLEMAS,  followed  by  BADOBB. 

Lad.  [  Very  ragged,  with  some  opera  books  in  one  hand,  at  d  boxn 
vf  matches  in  the  other.]  Book  of  tne  opera,  sir?  take  a  book,  sir— 
they  will  charge  you  double  inside.  Well,  buy  a  box  of  lucifers — • 
hundred  for  three  cents.  [Dodging  in  front  of  him,  to  prevent  hi» 
passing.\  Genuine  Pollak's — try  one.  [Exit  GENTLBMAB — BADGKI 
thanges  his  tone,  and  calls  after  him.]  If  you  re  short  of  cash,  I'l 
feud  you  a  shilling.  He  wants  all  he  has  got  to  pay  his  omnibus 
Jerusha '  ain:t  it  cold !  Tum-iddy-tum-iddy-tum.  [Performs  a  shot 
dance,  while  he  hums  a  banjo  melody.]  I  could  play  the  banjo  on  mj 
.itomach,  while  all  my  shivering  anatomy  would  supply  the  bonus, 

Enter  MBS.  FAIBWEATHEE. 

Mrt.  F.  I  cannot  return  to  our  miserable  home  without  food  for  my 
children.  Each  morning,  we  separate  in  search  of  work,  in  search  oi 
food,  only  to  meet  again  at  night — their  poor  faces  thin  with  hunger, 
[She  clasps  her  hands  \n  anguish.]  Ah  !  what's  here  ]  yes,  this  re- 
mains— it  is  gold  1 

Bad.  [Overhearing  her  last  word.]  Gold!  Book  of  the  opera, 
ma'am  1 

Mrs.  F.  Tell  me,  friend,  where  can  I  buy  a  loaf  of  bread  at  thia 
hour? 

Bad.  There's  a  saloon  open  in  the  4th  avenue.  [Aside.]  Gold — *bt 
•aid  gold. 

Mrs.  F.  Will  they  accept  this  pledge  for  some  food  1 

[Shows  a  ring  to  B  ADOKB. 

Bad.  [Eagerly.]  Let  me  see  it.  [Looks  round. 

Mrs.  F.  It  is  my  wedding  ring. 

[  13  ADQBK  examines  it  by  the  light  of  the  Druggist's  window 

Bad.  [Aside.]  I  can  easily  make  off  with  it. 

[Hubs  his  nose  with  the  ring  while  he  considers 

Mrt.  F.  My  children  are  starving — I  must  part  with  it  to  buy  them 
bread. 

Bad.  [  Whistles — hesitates — and  returns  the  ring.]  Go  along,  go, 
buy  your  children  food,  start,  and  don't  show  that  ring  to  anybody 
else.  You  deserve  to  lose  it  for  showing  it  to  such  a  blackguard  as  1 
am.  [Exit  MRS.  FAIRWKATHKH. 

Enter  BLOODQOOD. 

BUMM.  What's  the  time.     The  opera  must  be  nearly  over 

[Look's  at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  Druggist's  window. 

Bad.  Book  of  the  opera,  sir— only  authorized  edition.  [Recogni* 
\na  him.]  Blood  good  ! 

Blood.  Badger  I 
[  They  advance.    BLOODQOOD  puts  hit  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  coat. 

Bad.  Ah,  my  deai  Gideon —  [Suddenly.]  Take  your  hand  out  o! 
four  brwwt— «ome  I  oor«  of  that—I've  a  knift  up  my  gleeve  that 


w  TUB  pot  it  of  HKW   VOUK 

would  rip  you  up  like  a  dried  codfish  before  yon  "-ou.rt  cock  Uut 
revolver  y  m  have  there  so  handy. 

Blood.  \  Withdrawing  his  hand.}  You  are  mistaken. 

Bad.  Oh,  no  !  I  am  nut.  I  have  not  been  ten  years  in  California 
for  nothing — you  were  just  thinking  that  yon  could  blow  out  my 
krairis,  and  swear  that  L  was  trying  to  garrote  you. 

iilood.  What  do  you  want! 

Rod.  I  want  your  lii'e — but  legally.  A  week  ago,  I  came  out  ol 
prison — you  had  removed  the  Fairweather  family — I  could  not  find  a 
trace  of  them  but  1  found  the  receipt  where  I  had  concealed  it.  To- 
caonvw  I  shall  place  it  in  the  hands  of  the  District  Attorney  with  my 
eonfession  of  our  murder  of  the  Soa  Captain. 

Slood.  Murder — 

Bad.  Only  think  what  a  fine  wood  cut  for  the  Police  Gazette  wt 
shall  make,  carrying  out  the  dead  body  between  us. 
!     Blood.  Demon  !  •  \  p(,  t 

Had.  There  will  be  a  correct  plan  of  your  back  office  in  the  Herald — 
headed — the  Bloodgood  Tragedy. 

Blood.  Come  to  my  house  to-morrow,  and  bring  that  document  with 
you. 

Bad.  No,  sir — ee !  once  caught  twice  shy.  You  owe  me  a  call 
Come  to  my  house,  to-night — and  alone. 

Blood.  W  here  do  you  live  ? 

Bad.  Nineteen  and  a  half  Cross  street,  Five  Points — fifth  floot 
Dack — my  name  is  on  the  door  in  chalk. 

Blood.  In  an  hour  I  will  be  there. 

Bad.  In  an  hour.  Don't  forget  to  present  my  compliments  to  yota 
charming  daughter — sweet  creature!  the.  image  of  her  father — how  1 
should  like  to  write  something  in  her  album.  [Exit  BLOODGOOH. 

Enter  two  GENTLEMEN  from  Hotel — they  talk 

[Cries.]  Here's  lucifers — three  cents  a  hundred. 

[Gentlemen  shake  hands  and  separate. 

[Following  one  off  ]  Here's  this  miscellaneous  stock  of  lumber^jusl 
imported  from  Germany,  to  be  sold  out — an  alarming  sacrifice,  in  con- 
•equence  of  the  present  state  of  the  money  market. 

[Ej'tf  importuning  the  gentleman,  who  tries  to  etcapt. 

Pvffy.  Come,  mother,  we  must  get  home — 

Mrs.  P.  Dan,  have  you  seen  nothing  of  poor  Mrs  Fairweather  and 
her  children '! 

Dan.  No,  mother — I  can't  find  out  where  they  have  gone  io--l 
jness  they're  quit  New  York. 

Mrt.  P.  God  help  them — wherever  they  are ! 

Puffy.  Come  mother. 
{Music— PUFFY  und  MBS.  P.  go  out— DAH  gots  up  and  speaki  wi& 

gentleman. 

Enter  LtrcT. 

I/uty.  This  u  the  place.    The  sisters  of  charity  in  Elusion 
told  me  that  I  might  find  work  at  this  address.  [Reads  poppr. 
Oh.  Hea  vfln  I  be  merciful  to  me,  this  is  my  last  hoot), 


THi    POOR   OF    HKW    YOBR.  «* 

.  4__ 
PAUI.  rises  and  comes  forward. 

r  Jot.  My  limbs  are  powerless.  How  long  have  I  slept  there  J — 
another  long  day  bas  passed/rl  have  crept  round  the  hotels — -tht 
wharves — I  have  begged  for  work — but  they  laughed  at  my  poor  tiin 
rorm — the  rmnnant  of  belter  days  hung  in  tatters  about  me — and  I 
was  thrust  from  the  door,  by  stronger  wretches  than  L  To  day  1 
•ppliad  to  get  employment  as  a  waiter  in  a  hotel — but  no.  I  looked  to* 
miserable.  Oh,  my  mother  !  my  poor  mother !  my  dear  sister  !  were 
it  not  for  you,  I  would  lie  down  here  and  die  where  I  was  born,  in  th« 
streets  of  New  York. 

Dan.  All  right,  sir— to  the  Brevoort  House.  Here,  you  lazy  cosi, 
«houlder  this  trunk,  and  earn  a  quarter — 

Enter  a  FORTBB. 

Paul.  Yes — oh,  gladly  ! — 

Porter.  It's  myself  will  do  that  same.  [PAUL  and  the  PORTER  tnat 
ike  trunk.]  Lave  yer  hoult — you  dandy  chap  wid  the  black  coat. 

Paul.  He  called  to  me. 

Porter.  Is  it  the  likes  of  you — that  ud  be  takin'  the  bread  out  of 
the  mouths  of  honest  folks. 

Paul.  God  help  me !  I  have  not  tasted  bread  for  two  days, 

Porter.  The  Lord  save  us  !  why  did'ut  ye  say  so  1 — take  the  trunk 
and  welkim.  [PAUL  trying  to  lift  it.]  [Exit  DAX. 

Gent.  Come  along,  quick  !  [ Exit  GENTLBMAS. 

Paul.  [  Unable  to  lift  it,  staggers  back.]  1 — I — can't — I  am  too  weak 
torn  hunger. 

Porter.  Look  at  this,  my  jewel.  [Tossing  the  trunk  on  his  shoul- 
der.] That's  the  way  of  id — all  right,  yer  honor  !  [Exit  PORTER. 

Paul.  [Falling  against  the  lamp-post  in  despair,  on  his  knee».] 
Oh,. God! — you  who  have  refused  to  me  the  force  to  earn  my  bread, 
^ive  me  the  resignation  to  bear  your  will. 

Re-enter  LUCY. 

Lucy.  The  lady  was  from  home — they  told  me  to  call  next  week — 
oh,  could  I  see  some  kindly  face— I  would  beg,  yes — I  would  aai 

•hi* 

Enter  a  GEXTLKMAS. 

2k — pardon  me — would  you 

Gent.  Eh! 

Lucy.  [Stammering.]  I — I — I 

Gent.  What  do  you  want  ? 

Lucy,  [faintly.]  The — the — Bowery— if— if— you  plenae— 
Gent.  Just  turn  to  the  right,  and  keep  strait  on.  [JEnt. 

f*cy.  Oh  coward  !  coward ! — I  have  not  the  courage  to  beg. 

Enter  MRS  FAIRWKATHEK. 

Mrt.  F.  They  refused  to  take  ray  ring— they  said  T  bad  stolen  it~ 
f  hey  dror-j  me  from  the  house,  to  what  have  I  COB  e ! — to  beg  IB 
«**•  «tr«»et*--ve8.  for  theH).  for  HJV  children  ' 


0  IHk    f-OOh    OP    NKW    YORK. 

Paul   [Rising.]  Let  me  return   to  our  home— perhapn  m<x«aer », 
Licy  may  have  found  work. 

Mn.  F.  Sir!  sir! — In  the  name  of   your  mother — help  my  poet 
ehildren. 

Lucy.  [  Covering  her  face  toitk  one  hand,  and  holding  out  tht  atKir 
For  pity's  sake — give  me  the  price  of 

Paul.  Mother  !  !        } 

Lucy.  My  Brother  !  >  Together 

Mrs.  F.  My  Son  !     ) 

Paul.  Oh,  mother!   ray  own  Lucy!  my  heart  is  broken!   [Th*i 
fmbrace.]  Have  you  concealed  from  me  the  extent  of  your  misery  1 

Mrs.  F  My  son  !  my  poor  children !  I  cannot  see  you  dv.  of  hun- 
ger and  cold ' 

Ptiul.  Take  Lucy  home,  mother — and  I  will  bring  you  food. 

Mrs.  F.  Paul,  promise  me  that  nothing  will  tempt  you  to  a  dtahon 
orable  act. 

Paul.  Do  not  fear,  mother ;  the  wretched  have  always  one  resourx 
—they  can  die  I     l)o  not  weep,  Lucy — in  an  hour  I  will  be  with  yr  u 

[  Exeunt  Lucy  and  MHH.  F. 

I  will  go  and  await  the  crowd  as  they  leave  the  Academy  of  Music— 
amongst,  them  Heaven  will  inspire  some  Christian  heart  to  aid  me. 

:«LTt.  *• 

SCENE  IT.— The  vestibule  of  the  Academy  of  Music. 
Eater  ALIDA  and  LIVINGSTONE.     Music  within. 

Alida.  How  strange  that  my  father  has  not  returned. 

Mark.  Allow  me  to  look  for  the  carriage. 

Alida.  I  will  remain  iiere.  Exit  LIVINGSTONE. 

At  last  I  have  won  the  husband  I  desire.  lie  is  entangled  in  my  fa- 
ther's debt :  in  one  month  hence  I  shall  be  Livingstone's  wife.  Our  boa 
!s  now  crowded  with  the  first  people  in  New  York. — The  dear  Dnk« 
still  makes  love  to  me — to  which  Livingstone  appears  indifferent— se 
nanch  the  better — once  Mrs.  Livingstone  he  mavdo  as  he  likes  and  sc 
will  I. 

Enter  PAUL. 

Pavl.  Ah  !  'tis  she — Alida  Bloodgood. 

Alida.  I  wonder  they  permit  such  vagabond*  to  hane  about  thf 
opera. 

Re-enter  LIVINGSTONS. 

Hark.  The  carriage  is  ready— [Recognizing  PAPI]  Paul 
Paul.  Livingstone ! 

Mark.  Great  heaven !  In  what  a  condition  do  I  find  you. 
Paul.  We  are  pooi — we  are  starving. 
Alida    Give  the  fellow  a  dollar,  and  send  him  away. 
Mark.  My  dear  Alida,  you  do  not  know — this  is  a  school-  fellow— 
ID  old  friend — 

I  know  that  you  an*  keeping  me  in  the  cold— ah  !  I  •»  tbt 


YH«  roon  or  irsw  tost 

Duke  of  Calcavella  on  the  steps  yonder,  smoking  a  cigar      Ht.   will 
ioe  me  home,  don't  let  mo  take  you  from  your  old  i'rieud. 

[Exit. 

Mark.  [Aside.]  Cold — heartless  girl!  [Aloud.]  Come,  ?anl,  corao 
quickly,  bring  me  to  where  I  shall  find  your  mother — your  sister — 
*t*y,  let  me  first  go  home,  and  get  money,  I  will  meet  you  at  yoni 
lodgings-— where  do  you  live  1 

Paul.  Number  nineteen  and  a  half  Cross  street — Five  Feints — I 
till  wait  for  you  at  the  door. 

Mark.  In  less  than  an  hour.  I  shall  be  there.  [Exeunt. 

'  ACT"  &     Sc.  */» 

JOENE. — ..Vb.  19*2  Cross  street — Five  Points.  Two  adjoining  atttt 
rooms.  That  C/BADOER,  L.  H.  Tliatofthe  FAiRWEATHER/a»it7f 
E.  H.  ifuiic.  LUCY  is  seated  c.  and  MRS.  FAIBWBATHER  kneels  n. 

Lucy.  Sure!y  an  hour  has  passed  and  Paul  has  not  returned. 
Mrs.  F.  Ob,  merciful  father!  protect  my  poor  children. 

Enter  BADGKH  tn  his  attic  R.  H.  with  his  box  of  matches.     He  serapei 
stveral  which  do  not  light.     MRS.  F.  rises  and  goes  to  window. 

Bud.  One  hundrei  matches  like  that  for  one  cent.  [Lighting  one.} 
Oh,  lucky  ".hance  !  Here's  one  that  condescends. 

[Lights  a  candle  in  a  bottle. 

Mrs.  F.  Day  after  dty  goes  by — no  hope — the  future  wort,e  thai, 
t^e  present — 4ark — dark.  Oh  !  this  load  of  wretchedness  is  too 
much  to  bear. 

Lucy.  The  candle  is  going  out. 

Mrs.  F.  So  much  the  better,  I  shah  not  be  able  to  see  your  tears. 
[Lucy  rests  her  face  on  her  hands. 

Bad.  [Taking  a  bottle  fr a  •*  his  pocket.]  There's  the  concentrated 
essence  of  comfort — the  poor  man's  plaster  for  the  inside. 

Lucy.  [Aside.]  Is  there  no  w^y  to  end  this  misery  1  None  but 
death ! 

Bod.  [  Taking  from  pocket  a  slice  of  bread  and  meat  wrapped  in  a 
bit  of  newspaper.]  Here's  my  supper.  [Addressing  an  imaginary 
servant.]  James,  lay  the  table — spread  the  table  cloth. — "  Yes  sa" — 
[Places  the  newspaper  over  the  table.]  't's  cold  here,  there's  a  draught 
in  this  room,  somewhere. — James.  chaiu£>agne.  Thank  you,  James. 

[Drinks  and  eats. 

Mrs.  F.  [Aside,  coming  down  R.J  If  Pai'l  had  only  Lucy  to  sup- 
port, tlmy  might  live — why  should  I  prolong  ray  life  only  to  hastez 
theirs. 

Bad.  The  draught  comes  from — [examining  thi  wall] — yes  thert 
are  great  chinks  in  the  wall — I  must  see  my  landlord  and  solicit 
repairs.  A  new  family  mored  into  the  next  room,  yesterday ;  I  won- 
der who  they  are  1 

Lucy.  The  wretched  always  have  one  resource — they  can  die ! 

Bad.  [At  his  table  eating — he  has  taken  the  blanket  from  hit  bci3 
4*d  wrapped  it  about  his  shoulders.]  Now  let  us  do  a  little  bui>ii:es« 
turn  up  the  gas.     Y'es  sa  ! — I  He  snuffs  the  candli   with   \« 


44  TH8    POOR   Of    KKW    YORK-         ' 

Angeri  J  Thank  yon.  Ahem !  Jtmcs,  Bloodgood  A  t  ominy  for  MM 
receipt  bequeathed  to  me  by  the  old  sailor.  What  price  shall  we  sot 
upon  it,  James  ? 

(1 —      Lucy.  [Aside.]  When  I  am  gone,  there  will  be  one  mouth  leas  tc 
feed — Paul  will  have  but  one  care  to  provide  for. 
—Mrs.F.  [Aside]  In  this  room,   we  had  some  charcoal — there  u 
v<aoagh  left  to  bestow  ou  me  an  easy  death. 

[MRS.  FAUIWEATHEK  exits  by  door  B.  H. 

?  Bad.  I  think  $50,000  would  be  the  figure — Oh,  what  a  prosper* 
jpens  before  me— 60,000  dollars — I  should  resume  sjieeie  payments. 

Lucy.  [Looks  into  R.  n.  room.]  What  is  mother  doing  1  ah,  she  u 
righting  the  pan  of  charcoal  on  which  we  prepare  our  food — ah  ! — 
«he  thought! — could  I  induce  her  to  leave  me  alone.  Hem. — Th«i 
deadly  fumes  of  that,  fuel  will  bestow  on  me  an  easy  death. 

Mrs.  F.  [Re-enters.]  U  is  there — now,  now,  while  I  have  the  cour- 
ige  of  despair. 

Bad.  50,000  dollars  !  I'll  have  a  pair  of  fast  trotters,  and  dine  a' 
Delmonico's.  James,  more  champagne.  [Takes  a  drink  from  bottle.] 
Thank  you — 

Lucy  and  Mrs  f.  [Together.]  Mother — Lucy. 

Lucy.  Dear  mouter — I  have  just  thought  of  a  friend — a— a — fellow 
work  girl,  from  whom  I  may  get  assistance — 

Mrs.  F.  Qo,  then,  my  child — yes — go  at  once. 

Lucy.  I  fear  to  go  alone.  Como  with  me,  you  can  wait  at  thecoruei 
of  the  street  until  I  come  out.  y  Rfcy  WO-'l 

itfri.  F.  [Putting  on  her* bonnet.  Aside.]  When  she  is  out  of 
sight,  I  can  return  and  accomplish  my  purpose. 

Lucy.  [  Casting  a  cloak  over  her  head.  Aside.  ]  I  will  come  back 
by  another  way. 

Mrs.  F.  Come,  Lucy. 

Lucy.  I  am  ready,  mother.  [Aside.]  She  docs  not  think  that  wt 
arc  about  to  part  forever. 

Mrs.  F.  [Aside.]  My  poor  child  ! 

Lucy.  Kiss  me — mother,  for  my  heart  is  cold.       [They  embrace. 

Bad.  [Cogitating.]  50,000  dollars !  I'll  have  a  box  at  Grace  church 
».nd  a  pew  at  tho  opera. 

Lucy.  Mother,  I  am  ready,  [Exuent. 

Bad.  [Finding  his  bottle  empty.]  What's  the  news  1  Let  us  con- 
sult my  table  cloth.  What  journal  have  we  here.  [Reads.]  "  Cheva- 
lier Qreely  has  got  a  new  hat." — It's  the  Herald — What's  here  I— 
[Reads.]  "You  lie — villainy — you  lie,  and  you  know  it."  No!  it'l 
the  Tiibune. 

Ei-Aer  BI/OODGO<O. 

Blooa.    Ah,  Mr.  Badger. 

Bad.  Please  to  wipe  your  f  set,  before  you  come  in — my  carpet  it 
DOW.  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Take  a  seat  upo?»  the  sofa. 

{Pointing  to  b«d. 
Blood.  Come,  s*r  \  to  business     You  have  thr  receipt  with  yon.  I 


rH*    POOR    OF    HBW    YORR 

Bad.  You  know  I've  got  it,  or  you  would  not  have,  come. 

Blood,  How  much  do  you  want  for  it  1 

Bad.  Stay  a  moment.  "Let  us  see.  You  have  had  for  twenty  y*i« 
tr.  your  possession,  the  sum  of  $100,000,  the  profits  of  one  robbery— 
wrtl,  at  eight  per  cent,  this  sum  would  now  be  doubled 

Blooi.  Let  me  see  the  document,  and  then  we  cap  estimate  its  vales 

Bad    [Drawing  receipt  from  pocket.]  Here  it  is. 

Blood.  [Springing  towards  him.]  Let  me  have  it. 

Bad.  Hands  off! 

Blood.  [Drawing  pistol.]  That  paper,  give  it  me,  or  I'll  blow  yoni 
trains  out ! 

Bad.  [Edging  slowly  towards  the  bed.]  Ah!  that's  your  calculation. 

Blood.  Now  you  are  in  my  power. 

Bad.  It's  an  old  dodge,  but  ineffective.  Come,  no  violence — I'll  giv« 
you  the  paper. 

Blood.  A  bullet  is  good  argument. 

Bad.  [Drawing  from  beneath  his  pillow,  two  enormous  pisiol$.]  A 
Dracc  of  bullets  are  batter  still!* 

Blood.  Damnation ! 

Bad.  Derringer's  self-cocking.  Drop  your  hand,  or  I'll  blow  yon 
;lnto  pi. — So,  you  took  me  for  a  fool : — that's  where  you  made  a  mis- 
l take.  I  took  you  for  a  thorough  rascal,  that's  where  I  did  not  moke 

mistake.     Now,  to  business. 

Blood.  [Surlily.]  How  much  do  you  want  1 

Bad.  Fifty  thousand  dollars  ! 

Blood.  Be  it  so. 

E   Bad.  In  gold,  or  Chemicals.  \ 

v   Blood.  Very  well,     To-morrow — 

Had.  No — to-night. 
\l  Blood.  To-night  I 

Bad.  Yes  ;  I  wish  to  purchase  a  brown  stone  house  ou  the  avenuo, 
aarly  in  the  morning. 

Blood.  Come  with  me  to  my  house  in  Madison  square. 

Bad.  No,  thank  you.  I'll  expect  you  here  in  an  hour  with  the 
money. 

Blood.  [Aside.]  He  has  me  in  his  power — I  must  yield.  [Aloud.] 
I  will  return,  then,  in  an  hour. 

Bad.  Let  me  light  yon  out.  Mind  the  bannister — don't  break  you 
precious  neck,  at  least,  not  to-night.  No,  go  in  front,  will  you  7  J 
(refer  it. 

Blood.  What  for? 

Bad.  [  With  pistol  and  candle.]  A  fancy  of  mine — a  want  of  conft 
dence.  A  want  of  confidence,  in  fact,  pervades  the  community. 

Re-enter  LFCY. 

J/ucy.  I  took  a  cross  street,  and  ran  rapidly  home.  Now  I  aiu 
ftione  ;  the  fumes  of  the  charcoal  will  soon  fill  this  small  room.  Thoy 
•y  it  is  an  easy  d^ath — but  let  mo  not  hesitate — let  mo  sleep  tin 

ng  sleep  wk**!*  there  am  no  m>ire  t«ars,  710  more  suffering. 

'  %iit  into  closet,  a.  H 


THB    KJOR    OP    K.T«     TORE. 

Re-enter  BADGBR. 

J3*d.  So  I  tLat  is  settled.  I  hope  he  will  be  cautious  and  escapt 
vh«  gai  roujrs.  James,  inv  chibouque.  |  JTaAef  Aw  jHp«. 

Re-enter  MRS.  FAIRWBATHBB,  R.  H. 

Jfr*.  /".  Poor  Lucy !  I  dared  not  look  back  upon  her,  *r  we  parted 
forever  Despr.i:  hastened  my  steps.  My  poor  children  !  I  nave  >;iver 
you  all  I  had,  ana  now  I  hope  my  wretched  life  will  serve  you  in  yui 
terrible  need.  Come,  courage ;  let  me  prevent  the  fresh  air  frcra  en- 
tering. 

[  Takes  bits  of  linen  and  stops  window  and  door. 

Bad,  [Snvjfing.]  I  smell  charcoal — burning  charcoal — where  car 
H  come  from  ? 

Mrs.  F.  Now  let  ine  stop  the  door. 

Bad.  [Smoking.]  It's  very  odd;  I've  a  queer  feeling  in  my  head ; 
let  me  lie  down  awhile.  [Lies  on  his  bed. 

Enter  LUCT,  with  a  brazier  of  charcoal,  alight. 

Mrt.  F.  That's  done.  [Going  towards  closet,  and  meeting  LDCT.J 
Now  the  hour  has  come. 

Lucy.  The  moment  has  arrived.  f  Sets  down  the  brazier. 

Mrs.  F.  Lucy ! 

I/ucy.  Mother! 

Mrs.  F.  My  child,  what  is  thisl     For  what  purpose  are  you  herel 

Lucy.  And  you,  mother,  why  have  you  fastened  those  apertures  so 
closely  1  Like  ma,  you  wished  to  die ' 

Mrs.  F.  No,  no,  you  shall  not  die !  my  darling  child — you  are 
young — life  is  before  yon — hope — happiness. 

Lucy.  The  future  !  what  is  it  1  The  man  I  love  will  soon  wed  ano 
ther.  I  have  no  future,  and  the  present  is  a  torture. 

Mrs.  F.  Hush,  my  child,  hush ! 

litcy.  Is  it  not  better  to  die  thus,  than  by  either  grief  or  hunger  > 

Mrs*.  F.  [Fatting  in  a  chair.]  Already  my  senses  fail  me.  Lucy 
my  child,  live,  live  ! 

Lucy.  [Falls  at  herfett.]  No;  let  us  die  together — thus,  mother- 
as  often  I  knelt  to  you  as  a  child,  let  me  pray  for  those  we  love. 

Mrs.  F.  Oh,  merciful  Judge  in  heaven,  forgive  us — forgive  mr 
«Hld — and  It- 1 — your  anger  fall — on  me — alone 

Lucy.  God  bless  my  dear  brother — and  you  ray  dear  Mark,  may— 
you  be — hap — [JUurmers  the  rest  of  the  prayer. 

Bad.  It's  very  cold  !  I  feel  quite  sleepy.  I  must  not  go  to  sleep, 
(Sings  in  a  low  voice.]  "  Oh,  down  in  ole  Virginny." 

Paul.  [  Without,  knocking.]  Mother,  open  the  door,  why  is  the* 
door  locked  1  Mother,  mother  !  Open,  mother,  open  !  [Knockt 
violently.  MR&.  F,.  arising,  tries  to  reach  the  door,  but  cannot,  and 
falls.  PAUL  bursts  open  the  door  and  enters  with  LIVINGSTONS  ;  thtf 
ttart  back—  LIVINGSTONE  breaks  the  window,  and  PAUL  runs  to  ktf 
mother.]  Too  late!  too  Iat«  !  They  have  committed  suicide  ! 

Hark    Thev   liv*  sf.il  1.     Quick,  bear  them   outside  into  the  aw 


*H«    P00»    OF    \RW    10EK. 

Leer .  out  vhilt  PAUL  assists  A  is  mother  into  the  text  room 
Bad.  [Starting  up.]  How  hot  it  is  here — I  cannot  breathe.  Hay« 
I  drui  k  too  much  1  Nonsense  !  1  coHd  drink  a  dozen  such  Mitles. 
Let  me  try  my  legs  a  bit — where's  the  door  ?  I  can't  see  it — my  heac 
ipins  round — come,  Badger,  no  nonsense  now.  God !  I'm  suffocating  ' 
Am  I  going  to  die,  to  die!  like  that  old  «ea  captain  7  [Tears  of  hit 
erarat.  ]  Justice  of  Heaven !  I  am  strangling.  Help !  help !  Bloodgood 
will  return  and  find  me  helpless,  then  he  wi'l  rob  me  of  the  receipt,  a* 
I  robbed  the  old  sailor — I  know  him  of  old — he  is  capable  of  it,  bu< 
he  shall  not  have  it !  There,  in  its  nook,  if  1  h?  ve  strength  to  reach  itr- 
U  is  safe — safe.  [Drags  himself  along  the  floor  l*fit  up  a  loote  board 
puts  the  receipt  beneath  it  and  fails  exhausted]  There! 

faul.  [Entering  R.  H  room.]  I  heard  smothered  <"i«s  for  help-- 
they  came  from  this  floor.  'Km. 

Enter  ELOOPGOOD,  L.  H.  room. 

Blood.  Here  I  am,  Badger.  [Start*  back,  suffocated.}  What  a  8ii«- 
focatiMj>  atroosphere  !  where  is  he  1  ha  !  is  he  intoxicated? 

Paul.  [Entering  L.  H.  room.]  Perhaps  the  cry  came  from  here 
dead  7 

Blood.  Paul  Fairw?ather ! 

I'aul.  Gideon  Bloodgood  1 

LJad.  'Sailing  his  head.]  What  names  were  those  1  Both  of  them 
Tojieilitr  here!  [To  PAUL]  Listen — while  I  yet  hare  breath  u 
upeak — .jsten !  Twenty  years  ago,  that  man  robbed  your  father  oi 
|10t  1,000! 

J'aul.  Robbed! 

Blood.  Scoundrel  ? 

Bad.  I've  got  the  proofs. 

Paul.  The  proofs  1 

Bud.  I  have  'em  safe — >  >u'll  lind  'em — th — ah     [FaUa 
;   PAUL  and  BLOODOOOD  stand  aghast* 


&n> 

"T9  if® 


NKW   TO»R. 


1 


BOENE  I.  —  Brooklyn  Heights,  overlooking  the  city  of  New  Fork 
And  its  harbors.  The  stage  is  occupied  by  a  neat  garden,  an  a  natu- 
ral ttrracs  of  the  heights  —  on  the  L.  H.,  a  frame  cottage,  prettily 
built  —  a  table,  with  breakfast  laid,  L.  H.,  at  which  MRS.  FAIRWKA 
THBR  and  PAUL  are  seated. 

Enter  MRS.  PcpFY,/rc»i  the  cottage,  w%th  a  teapot. 

Mrs.  P.  There's  the  tea.  Bless  me,  how  hot  it  is  to-day  !  wbc 
would  think  that  we  were  in  the  month  of  February  1  [Sitf. 

Mrs.  F.  Your  husband  is  late  to  breakfast. 
Paul.  Here  he  comes. 

Enter  PUFFY,  gaily. 

Puffy.  How  is  everybody  1  and  above  everybody,  how  is  Miss  Lucy 
liis  morning  1  [Sits  at  table. 

Mrs.  F.  Poor  child  !  bar  recovery  fs  slow  —  the  fever  has  abated, 
but  she  is  still  very  weak. 

Paul.  Her  life  is  saved  —  for  a  whole  month  she  hovered  over  th« 
grave. 

Puffy.  But  how  is  it  we  never  see  Mr.  Livingstone!  our  benefactor 
Is  like  Santa  Glaus  —  he  showers  benefits  and  blessings  on  us  ail, 
ret  never  shows  us  his  face. 

Mrs.  F.  He  brought  us  back  to  thi«,  our  old  home  —  he  obtained 
employment  for  Paul  in  the  Navy  Yard. 

Puffy-  "e  set  me  °P  again  in  my  patent  oven,  and  got  me  a  gov- 
arnment  contract  for  Navy  biscuit. 

Mrs.  P.  He  is  made  of  the  finest  flour  that  heaven  ever  put  intc 
human  baking;  ho'll  die  of  over-  bigness  of  the  heart. 

Mrs.  F.  Thai's  a  disease  hereditary  in  your  family. 

Paul.  [Rising.}  I  will  tell  you  why  Livingstone  avoids  our  grati- 
Mide.  Because  my  sister  Lucy  refused  his  love  —  because  he  has  sold 
his  hand  tc  Alida  Bloodgood  —  and  he  lias  given  ua  the  purchase  mo« 
ney. 

"I'vffy.  Ar^I  tucr  ngst  those  who  have  «erv<»d  t»,  don't  let  us  forge! 
poor  Badger. 

Enter  BADGES,  behind 

Bad.  They  are  talking  of  me. 

Mrs.  F.  [Hiring.  \.  Forget  him!  forget  the  man  who  watched  Lucj 
daring  her  illness,  with  move  than  the  tenderness  of  a  brother!  A 
woman  never  can  forgot  any  one  who  has  been  kiiicl  tr  her  children. 

Mn.  P   Them's  my  sentiments  to  a  hair. 

Bad.  You  shan't  have  cause  to  change  them. 

Paul   Badger  ! 

Sad.  Congratulate  me.  I  have  been  appointed  to  the  police.  Tin 
•vnnrais*io:)«rs  w»nt#<i  P  »>^«c-ia)  service  to  lav  ca  to 


,  it  seems  has  concentrated  there,  and  we  want  to  cawJi  a 
Dig  ntwnder. 

Mn.  P-  They  all  go  to  Europe. 

Puffy.  That  accounts  for  the  drain  of  specie. 

[MR.  and  MRS.  P.  take  off  the  breakfast  tab*. 

Mr».  F.  1  will  tell  Lucy  that  her  nurse  has  come. 

[Exit  into  ccttagt. 

Paul.  Now,  Badger,  the  news. 

Had.  Bad,  sir.  To-night  Mr.  Livingstone  is  to  be  married  to  Alidn 
lloodgood. 

Paul  What  shall  I  do  1  I  dare  not  accuse  Bloodgood  of  this  rob- 
wry,  unless  you  can  produce  the  proofs — and  perhaps  the  wretch  has 
Uscovered  and  destroyed  them. 

Bad.  I  think  not.  When  I  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  char- 
soal,  the  day  after  my  suffocation,  I  started  for  my  lodging — I  found 
ihe  house  shut  up,  guarded  by  a  servant  of  Bloodgood's — the  banker 
lad  bought  the  place.  But  I  had  concealed  the  document  too  cun- 
lingly ;  he  has  not  found  it. 

Paul.  But  knowing  this  man  to  be  a  felon,  whom  we  may  be  abl« 
it  Any  hour  to  unmask,  can  we  allow  Livingstone  to  many  his  daugh- 
ter 1 

Enter  LIVIKOHTONB. 

IM.  Paul,  I  have  come  to  bid  you  farewell,  and  to  see  Lucy  fa 
he  last  tima — 

Enter  LUCY. 

Lucy.  For  the  last  time,  why  so — 

[PAUL  and  BADGER  run  to  astist  her  forward. 

Lir.  Lucy,  dear  Lucy. 

Bad.  Now  take  care — sit  down — 

Lucy.  Ah,  my  good  kind  nurse.  [She  $&».]  You  are  always  by  my 
Ide. 

Bad.  Always  ready  with  a  dose  of  nasty  medicine,  ain't  I — well 
•ow  I've  got  another  dose  ready — do  you  see  this  noble  kind  heart, 
Lncy;  it  looks  through  two  honest  blue  eyes  into  your  face — well 
tell  me  what  you  see  there — 

Lucy.  Why  do  you  ask  mel  [  Troubled 

Bad.  Don't  turn  your  eyes  away — the  time  nas  come  when  decep 
tion  is  a  crime,  Lucy — look  in  his  face,  and  confess  the  infernal 
•cbeme  by  which  Alida  Bloodgood  compelled  you  to  renounce  your 

bra, 

IAV.  Alida! 

Lucy.  Has  she  betrayed  me — 

Bad.  No  !  you  betrayed  yourself — one  night  in  the  ravings  of  you* 
fever,  when  I  held  your  hands  in  the  parozyism  of  your  frenay,  I 
heard  th«  cries  that  came  from  your  poor  wounded  heart ;  shall  J 
repeat  the  scene. 

fMcy.  [Hiding  her  fact  in  her  hands.]  No,  no. 

Liv.  Paul,  is  this  true  1  have  I  been  deceived  ? 


ID  riiB  rowi  OK  slew  tofi*. 

Paul.  You  have  —  Lucy  confessed  to  me  this  iufaincut  bargain, 
•alerted  from  lu-r  by  Alida  Bloodgood  ,  and  to  save  you  fioiu.rciu  shs 
••criflced  hei  IOVP  — 

Ltv.  Lucy  i  dear  Lucy,  look  up.  It  was  for  your  saku  alone  that 
I  accepted  this  hated  union  —  to  save  you  and  yours  from  poverty— 
bat.  whisper  one  word,  tell  me  that  ruin  of  fortune  is  better  than  ruin 
if  the  heart.  [Luct  foils  upon  kis  necle. 

Bod.  Haii  Columbia  !  I  know  a  grand  party  at  Madison  Square  that 
will  cave  in  to  night  —  hi  !  —  1  shall  be  there  to  congratulate  that  sweet 
girl. 

Enter  DAH.  W  >n» 

Dan.  Mother  !  mother  !  where's  iny  hat,  quick,  there's  a  fire  ia 
New  York.  [H«  runs  into  -tk+  hottse  and  re-enters  with  a  telescope, 
looks  off  towards  the  city. 

Bad.  Yes,  and  there  is  a  fire  here  too,  but  one  we  don't  want  pul 
out  — 

Paul.  Now  Mark,  I  can  confess  to  you  that  documents  exist  —  proofs 
of  felony  against  Bloodgood,  which  may  at  any  moment  consign  him 
to  the  State  Prison  and  transfer  to  our  family  his  illgotten  wealth 

IAV,  Proofs  of  felony  ? 

Dan.  The  fire  is  in  Chatham  street. 

Paul.  Twenty  years  ago  he  robbed  my  father  of  100,000  dollars. 

Bad.  And  1  was  his  accomplice  in  the  act;  we  shared  the  plunder 
between  us  — 

Dan.  No  it  isn't  in  Chatham  street  —  I  see  it  plainly  —  it  ia  in  Cro*i 
street,  Five  Points. 

Bad.  [Starting.]  Cross  street  —  where,  where  —  [Runs  up. 

]jiv.  But  if  these  proofs  —  these  documents  exist,  where  are  they  1 

Dan.  It  is  the  tenement  house  two  doors  from  the  corner. 

Had.  Damnation  !  it  is  our  old  lodging  !  you  ask  where  are  then* 
proofs,  these  documents  1  they  are  yonder,  in  that  burning  house  — 
tired  by  Bloodgood  to  destroy  the  papers  he  could  not  find  —  corse* 
on  him  ' 

Enter  MBS.  PFVKY.  with  DAK'B  hat. 

Mrs.  P.  Here's  your  hat,  Dan. 

Bad.  Quick  !  Dan,  niy  son  —  for  our  lives  !     Ban  !  th*  fortune*  <*t 
\oay  and  Paul  and  the  old  woman  are  all  in  that  burning  house. 
[DAS  begins  to  thrust  tns  trousers  into  iw  bcct$ 

Enter  Mas.  FAIRWRATHKR  and  PUFFY. 


to  8iv*  it  or  perish  in  the  dames 
Count  me  in 

r*M  tf-i 


A 


TBTB    POOH    OK 


J>JNE  11.  —  Stage  dark.  The  exterior  of  the  tenement  k<n»u,  No. 
19^  Cross  street,  Five  Points — the  shutters  of  cdi  the  windows  art 
dosed.  A  light  is  seen  throuyh  the  round  holes  in  the  shutters  sf  tht 
upper  windows-— presently  a  flame  rise* — it  is  extinguished — then 
retires.  The  light  seen  to  descend  as  the  bearer  rf  it  passes  dour* 
ike  staircase,  the  door  opens  cautiously — BLOODOOOD,  disguised,  ap- 
pears— ht  looks  round — closes  the  door  again — locks  it. 

Blood.  lu  a  few  hours,  this  accursed  house  will  be  in  ruins.  Th« 
eceipt  is  concealed  there — and  it  will  be  consumed  in  the  flame* 
"Tht  glow  of  fire  is  seen  to  spread  from  room  to  room..}  Now  Badger- 
do  your  worst — I  am  safe  !  [  Exit. 

\Tke  house  is  gradually  enveloped  in  fire,  a  cry  outsiders  kta/>d 
'  Fi-er  '"  "Fi-erf"  it  is  taken  vp  by  other  voices  more  distant 
The  tocsin  sounds — other  churches  take  up  the  alarm — bells  of 
Engines  are  heard.  Enter  a  crowd  of  persons.  Enter  BADGER,  with 
out  toat  or  hat — he  tries  the  door — -finds  it  fast  $  seizes  a  bar  of  irot> 
and  dashes  in  the  ground  floor  window,  the  interior  is  sen  «'»» 
flames.  Enter  DAN. 

Dan.  [Seeing  BADQKR  climbing  into  the  window.]  Stop!   stop! 

[.dADGER  leaps  in  and  disappears.  Shouts  from  the  mob;  DAS  leap* 
*/» — another  shout,  DAN  leaps  out  again  black  andburned,  staggert 
forward  and  sterns  overcome  by  the  heat  and  smoke.  The  shuttert 
of  the  garret  full  and  discover  BADGER  in  the  upper  flc>or.  Another 
cry  from  the  crowd,  a  loud  crash  is  heard,  BADGER  disappears  at 
if  falling  with  the  inside  of  the  building.  The  shutters  of  the  win- 
dotes  fall  away,  and  the  inside  of  the  house  is  seen,  gutted  by  the 
fire;  a  cry  of  horror  is  uttered,  by  the  mob.  B ADGEK  drags  himself 
from  the  ruins,  and  falls  across  the  sill  oftlie  lower  window.  DA* 
and  two  of  the  mob  run  i.>  help  him  fontard  but  recoil  before  tht 
heat ;  at  length  they  succeed  in  rescuing  his  body — which  lies  c. 
LIVISOSTOKK,  PAUL,  and  PUFFT,  rush  on.  DAN  kneels  owrBAi^ 
OKB  and  extinguish:*  the  fire  which  clings  to  parts  of  his  clothes. 

•5 1_  *^*  *  *$  * 

SCENE     III. —  The  Drawing-Room  in  Bloodgood's  Maision,  tnJfnd 

i»on  Square — illuminated.     Music  within 
' 

Enter  Bioopooon. 

Blood.  The  evidence  «jf  my  criuie  is  destroyed — no  power  on  wtb 
tin  reveal  the  past. 

Enter  AMDA,  dressed  at  a,  bridt. 

M7  dearest  child,  to-night  you  will  leave  this  roof;  but  from  this  home 
ID  your  father's  heart,  none  can  displace  you. 

Aiida.  Oh,  dear  papa,  do  take  caret  of  my  flounces — you  men  p*Tf 
one  p'wut  as  if  a  dress  was  put  on  only  to  be  rumpled. 

Blood.  The  r«*oms  below  are  fnl]  of  company.     Haa 
' 


.-UK  POOR  1.1  f  sew   YORK. 

I  did  not  inquire.  The  duke  is  there,  looking  foe  (M«t 
•>{  misery,  while  all  my  female  friouls  pretend  to  congra, ulate  me— 
bat  1  know  they  are  dying  with  envy  and  spite. 

Blood.  And  do  these  feelings  constitute  the  happiest  day  of  jov 
life  1  Alida,  have  you  no  heart  1 

Alida.  Yes,  father,  I  have  a  heart — but  it  is  like  yours.  It  i*  *t 
Iron  safe  in  which  are  kept  the  secrets  of  the  past. 

Enter  EDWARDS. 

Kdw.  The  clergyman  is  robed,  sir,  and  ready  to  perform  the  c*r» 
*ouy. 
B'0'3^    Let  the  bridesmaids  attend  Miss  Bloodgood. 

The  curtains  are  raised,  and  the  BRIDESMAIDS  enter.     BLOOD<X>O» 
goes  up  and  dff,  and  immediately  returns  with  the  bridal  party. 

Welcome,  my  kind  friends.  [ALIDA  speaks  aside  with  the  duke.]  Youi 
presence  fills  me  with  pride  and  joy — but  where  is  the  bridegroom  1 
oas  no  one  seen  my  son-in-law  1 
Edw.  [Announcing.]  Mr.  Mark  Livingstone. 

Enter  LIVINGSTOSH. 

Blood.  Ah!  at  last.     What  n  strange  costume  for  a  bridegroom  . 

Alida,  [Turnt,  add  views  LIVINGSTONE.]  Had  I  not  good  reason* 
iO  be  assured  of  your  sincerity,  Mr.  Livingstone,  your  appearaucti 
*ould  lead  me  to  believe  tuat  you  looked  upou  this  marriage  aa  a  jest, 
>r  a  masquerade. 

Liv.  As  you  say,  Miss  Bloodgood,  it  is  a  masquerade — but  it  is  on« 
where  more  than  one  mask  must  fall. 

Blood.  [Aside.]  What  does  he  mean  1 

Alida.  You  speak  in  a  tone  of  menace.     May 

Blood.  Perhaps  1  had  better  see  Mr.  Livingstone  alone — he  may  b« 
under  some  misapprehension. 

Liv.  I  am  under  none,  sir — although  I  believe  you  may  be ;  and 
what  I  have  to  say  and  do,  demands  no  concealment.  I  come  here  to 
decline  the  hand  of  your  daughter.  [Movement  amongst  the  crowd. 

Blood.  You  must  explain  this  public  insult. 

Liv.  I  am  here  to  do  so,  but  1  do  not  owe  this  explanation  to  you  ; 
1  owe  it  to  myself,  a:"i  those  friends  I  see  here,  whose  presence  ondei 
your  roof  is  a  tribute  to  the  name  I  bear.  My'friends,  I  found  myself 
Ln  this  man's  debt ;  he  held  in  pledge  all  I  possessed — all  but  my 
name;  that  name  be  waited  to  shelter  the  infamy  iu  which  his  owa 
was  covered  ,  I  was  vile  enough  to  sell  it. 

Blood.  Go  on,  sir ;  go  on. 

Lit    With  your  leave,  I  will. 

Alida.  These  matters  yoc  were  fully  acquainted  with,  I  presume, 
when  you  sought  my  hand. 

Liv.  But  I  was  aot  acquainted  with  the  conterts  of  these  iertcr*— 
written  by  you,  to  th«  Duke  of  C'alcavella. 

Blood.  Dare  you  msi-uate  that  they  contain  evidence  nwovttor*  V 
.he  hoodi  of  my  child  t 


THK    fUOR    or    .NEW     VuHK.  M 

1^9  No,  sir ;  but  I  think  Miss  Bloodgood  will  agree  *Hh  me,  that 
the  sentiments  expressed  in  these  letters  entitle  her  to  the  hand  of  the 
duke  rather  than  to  uiiue.  [He  hands  the  letter*  to  ALIDA. 

Alida.  Let  him  go,  father. 

Lw.  Not  yet.  You  forget  that  my  friends  here  are  assembled  tc 
witness  a  marriage,  and  all  we  require  is  a  bride. 

Blood.  Yes ;  a  bride  who  can  pay  your  debts. 

Enter  PAUL,  LUCY,  and  MRS.  FAIHWBATHMK. 

Paul.  No,  sir ;  a  bride  who  can  place  the  hand  of  a  pure  and  *f « 
tag  maiden  i.i  that  of  a  good  and  honest  man. 

Blood.  How  dare  you  intrude  in  this  house  1 

Paul.  Because  it  is  mine;  because  your  whole  fortune  »iH  scarcely 
wnre  to  pay  the  debt  you  owe  the  widow  and  the  children  of  Adaa 
Pairweather ! 

Blood.  Is  my  house  to  1«  invaded  by  beg<raiw  like  these  !  Edwards 
send  for  the  police.  Is  there  no  law  in  New  York  for  ruffians  1 

Enter  BADGER,  in  the  uniform  of  an  offittr  of  police. 

Bad.  Yes,  plenty — and  here's  the  police. 

Blood.  Badger! 

Bud.  Wliat's  left  of  him. 

Blood.  [  Wildly.]  Is  this  a  conspiracy  to  ruin  me  1 

Bad.  That's  it  We  began  it  twenty  years  age ;  we've  been  hatch- 
ing it  ever  since :  we  let  you  build  up  a  fortune  ;  we  tempted  you  to 
become  an  incendiary  ;  we  led  yon  on  from  misdemeanor  to  felony — 
and  that's  what  I  want  you  for. 

Blood.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Bad.  My  meaning  is  set  forth  very  clearly  in  an  affidavit,  on  which 
the  Recorder,  at  this  very  late  hour  for  business,  issued  this  warrant 
for  your  arrest. 

Enter  two  POLICEMEJI.    ALIDA  fattt  tn  a  chair. 

Blood.  Incendiary  !  Dare  you  charge  a  man  of  my  standing  in  thlt 
city,  with  such  a  crime,  without  any  cause  1 

Bad.  Cause  !  you  wanted  to  burn  up  this  receipt,  which  I  was  Jus', 
In  time  to  rescue  from  the  flames  ! 

Blood.  [Drawing  a  knife.]  Fiend  ?  you  escaped  the  flames  here- 
now  go  to  those  hereafter ! 

Bad.  Hollo!  [Disarms  BLOODOOOD,  and  slips  a  pair  of  handctf* 
*»  him.]  Gideon — my  dear  Gideon— don't  lose  your  temper. 

[Throws  him  back,  manacled,  on  tht  sofa. 

Pavl.  Miss  Bloodgood.  let  me  lead  you  from  this  room. 

Alida.  [Risen,  and  crosses  to  her  father.]  Father. 

Blood.  Alida,  my  child. 

Alida.  Is  this  true  ?  [A  pause.]  It  is — I  read  it  in  yonr  quailing 
•ye — on  your  paling  lips.  And  it  was  for  this  that  you  raised  me  to 
ih«  envied  position  of  the  rich  man's  heiress — for  this  you  roused  mj 
pride — for  this  yon  decked  me  in  jewels — to  be  the  felon's  daughter 
Farewell. 


<4  THE   POOS   OF   NEW   YORK. 

Blooi.  AHda  —  my  child  —  my  child  —  it  was  for  you  alone  I  sinned 
--do  uot  leave  me. 

Alidu.  What  should  I  do  iu  tliiscity?  can  I  earn  my  bread?  what 
am  I  tit  for—  with  your  tainted  name  and  my  own  sad  heart*  [  Tftrout 
down  l\er  bride's  coronet.]  I  am  tit  for  the  same  fate  as  yours  —  iufamy. 


Ba~.  Duke,  you  had  better  see  ihat  lady  out.  [ftxtt  DDEI  _,  Gideon, 
ny  dear,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  two  friends  of  mine,  who  art 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance. 

Blood.  Take  me  away  ;  I  have  lost  my  child  —  my  Alida  ;  take  me 
l  way  ;  hide  me  from  all  the  world. 

Paul.  Stay!  Mr.  Bloodgood.  in  the  midst  of  your  crime  there  wt» 
oue  virtue  :  you  loved  your  child;  even  now  your  heart  deplores  her 
ruin  —  not  your  own.  Badger,  give  me  that  receipt.  [  Take*  ine  re 
teiptfrom  BADOKR.]  Do  you  acknowledge  this  paper  to  l>e  genuine  7 

Blood.  I  do. 

Paul.  [Tea  ft  it.}  I  have  no  charge  against  you.  Let  him  he  re- 
leased. Restore  to  me  my  fortune,  and  take  the  rest  ;  go,  follow 
your  child  ;  save  her  from  rnin.  and  live  a  better  life. 

Blood.  I  cannot  answer  y.ni  -t.«  ,  would.  [Turns  aside  in  teart. 
smd  yoes  out  with  POLICKUBS  and  MADGBR,  who  releases  BLOOPOOOD. 

Z/te.  That  was  nobly  done,  1'aul.  Now,  my  friends,  since  all  it 
prepared  for  my  marriage  let  the  ceremony  proceed. 

Mrs   F.  B-:t  where  is  Mrs.  Puffy. 

Bad.  Here  they  are,  outside,  but  they  won't  come  ji. 

Paui.  Why  noli 

Bad.  They  are  afraid  of  walking  on  the  carpet*. 

L\v.  Bring  them  iu. 

Bad.  That's  soon  done.  [Jfett. 

Mrs.  F.  Poor,  good,  kind  people  —  the  first  to  share  our  /orrow,  the 
last  to  claim  a  part  in  our  joy. 

Enter  BADGER  and  DAN—  PUFFY  and  one  POLICEMAN—  MRS.  PUFFT 
and  the  other  POLICEMAN. 

Bad.  They  wouldn't  come  —  I  was  obliged  to  take  'em  in  custody 

Dan.  Oh  !  mother,  where's  thi*  1 

Mrt.  P.  I'm  walkin'  on  a  feather  bed. 

Pv.fy.  He  wouldn't  let  me  wipe  iny  shoes. 

Liv.  Come  in  —  these  carpets  have  never  beec  trodden  by  mor« 
honest  feet,  these  mirrors  have  never  reflected  kinder  faces  —  CODM 
In  —  breathe  the  a'.r  here  —  you  will  purify  ik 

Mrs.  P.  Oh,  Dan,  what  grand  folks  —  ain't  they  * 

Dan.  Canvass  backs  pvery  one  on  'em. 

Liv.  And  now,  Lucy,  I  claim  your  hand,  [ifvtit  iiuidt.]  All  • 
toady  for  the  w-;niony. 

Bad.  You  have  seen  the  dark  side  of  Kfe  —  you  can  appreciate  yoof 
foitnne,  for  you  have  learned  the  value  of  wealth. 

Mrt.  F.  No,  we  have  learned  the  value  of  poverty    f  Gwtt  kr~ 
to  POFFT.]  It  opens  the  heart. 


fnvl.  |  'fo  tht  pvMtt.]  Is  this  trnel  Have  tho  suSerlnsr*  wa  n*r* 
tftpioted  iu  this  mimic  scene,  touched  your  hearts,  and  o*os*d  « 
war  of  sympathy  to  fill  ytnr  eyes  1  If  so,  extend  >  us  your  hfcnd* 

J(r*..  F.  No,  not  to  u.« — but  whon  yon  leave  this  place,  ns  yon  r* 
tarn  to  year  homes,  should  you  see  some  poor  crealnrM,  extond  yf^* 
bands  to  them,  and  the  Wessings  tliat  will  follow  yon  OR  »  "  »  wstf  ^ 
ki  tl»  mo«t  erat«>ful  tribute  you  can  pa"  to  the 

Pf.-Ott  OP  NSW 


HOOK,   LINE  AND  SINKER! 

Farce.  3  acts.  By  Edith  Loring.  4  males,  6  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

What  a  real  treat  it  is  to  relax  and  thoroughly  enjoy  yourself 
for  an  entire  evening.  Briefly,  the  plot  concerns  one  Harvey 
Hook,  a  young  chap  who  is  running  an  inn  at  a  summer 
resort.  Pretty  and  vivacious  Angel  Benedict  registers  at  the  inn 
and  spreads  the  story  that  she  is  engaged  to  Harvey.  What  she 
doesn't  know  is  that  since  she  last  saw  him  Harvey  has  met 
and  proposed  to  lovely  and  charming  Cherry  Raynard.  When 
Angel  tells  Harvey  that  she  is  ready  to  resume  her  engage- 
ment to  him  he  tells  her  that  he  is  going  to  marry  Cherry 
Raynard.  Angel  is  furious  and  decides  to  be  revenged  on 
Harvey  so  that  when  Cherry  and  her  very  suspicious  Aunt 
Amelia  appear  at  the  inn,  Angel  gives  Aunt  Amelia  plenty  of 
information  about  Harvey  and  all  of  it  is  bad.  Further  com- 
plications ensue  when  the  boy  whom  Cherry  was  recently  en- 
gaged to  comes  to  the  inn  unexpectedly.  The  scene  in  the  last 
act  where  Harvey  is  seized  upon  by  three  angry  females  who 
decide  to  give  him  first-aid  treatment  is  funnier  than  any- 
thing you've  seen  in  a  long  time.  For  sheer  good  natured  fun 
and  hilarity  Hook,  Line  and  Sinker  is  the  perfect  mixture. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  60  cents. 

JUST  LIKE  CINDERELLA 

Comedy  for  Junior  High  Schools.  3  acts.  By 
Charles  George.  4  males,  6  females,  extras.  Interior. 
Modern  costumes. 

Charles  George  hit  upon  the  idea  of  taking  the  ever-popular 
and  never-dying  Cinderella  story  and  bringing  it  up-to-date  in 
a  streamlined  version,  written  in  the  vernacular  of  the  day. 
Lucinda  Carleton  (Cindy)  is  the  daughter  of  Henry  Carleton 
by  his  first  marriage.  Henry  makes  the  mistake  of  marrying 
the  Widow  Maggie  Mahoney  who  has  two  unattractive  daugh- 
ters, Katie  and  Lizzie,  whom  she  wants  to  promote  socially  with 
Henry's  money.  When  Dudley  Farnsworth,  the  rich  boy  who 
lives  in  the  big  house  on  the  hill,  gives  a  masquerade  dance, 
the  new  Mrs.  Carleton  is  all  agog  to  promote  Katie  and  Lizzie 
and  Cindy  is  not  included.  But  the  old  cook  in  the  Carleton 
household  has  other  plans  and  it  is  she  who  decides  to  provide 
ways  and  means  for  Cindy  to  attend  the  dance.  Of  course, 
Cindy  goes  to  the  ball,  leaves  her  slipper,  and  wins  the  heart 
and  hand  of  the  rich  young  Dudley  (Prince  Charming).  Not 
only  that,  but  Cindy  finally  subdues  her  shrewish  and  dicta- 
torial stepmother  and  restores  her  father's  peace-of-mind. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  60  cents. 


EVEN  STEPHEN 

Comedy.  3  acts.  By  Franklin  A.  Warren.  4  males, 
3  females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

"Even  Stephen"  is  a  rollicking  comedy  that  has  the  Van 
Damms  in  "Who's  Who"  wondering  What's  What.  Aunt 
Henrietta  is  determined  to  keep  dear  Stephen  free  of  the  sor- 
did past  of  his  wealthy  family  and  surrounds  him  with  stifling 
kindness.  When  she  is  called  away  unexpectedly,  Stephen  is 
left  in  the  care  of  Helen  Smith,  a  secretary  who  hides  her 
beauty  under  severe  clothes.  Uncle  William  decides  to  make 
a  man  of  Stephen.  He  hires  the  services  of  Mitzi  Potter,  an  un- 
employed show  girl.  Mitzi  posing  as  a  Russian  Countess  stirs 
Stephen  to  poetic  palpitations.  Helen  Smith  decides  to  fight 
Mitzi  and  blossoms  out  in  a  vision  of  loveliness.  Stephen  be- 
wildered meets  Mike,  a  burglar,  who  promises  to  make  a  man 
of  him  in  "Toisey"  in  "tree"  months.  When  Stephen  arrives 
home  from  this  sojourn  he  is  a  new  Stephen.  He  plays  the  part 
of  twin  brothers,  Stephen  the  mollycoddle,  and  Stanley  the 
blacksheep,  to  get  rid  of  Mit/a  and  win  Helen. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  60  cents. 

KING  FOR  A  DAY 

Comedy.  3  acts.  By  Thomas  Sutton.  5  males,  6 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

Here's  a  new  farce  by  one  of  our  most  popular  writers.  It  all 
begins  when  Maureen  Manners,  of  the  Daily  Peep,  receives  a 
mysterious  phone  call  from  a  man  who  calls  himself  "Mr. 
Smith,"  promising  her  a  sensational  scoop.  Maureen  goes  to 
his  house,  accompanied  by  Bill  Potter,  a  photographer. 
Maureen  and  Bill  get  to  the  house,  and  "Mr.  Smith"  turns  out 
to  be  Solvanis,  Premier  of  Moronia,  in  this  country  search- 
ing for  the  "Lost  Prince  of  Moronia."  To  Bill's  great  amaze- 
ment, he  is  hailed  as  the  long-lost  heir  to  the  throne.  All 
in  a  few  hours,  the  shy  and  modest  Bill  Potter  finds  him- 
self the  center  of  an  international  intrigue.  To  add  to  the 
complications,  Bill's  fiancee  arrives  on  the  scene,  accom- 
panied by  her  mother,  who  sees  this  as  an  opportunity  to 
make  her  daughter  a  Queen — even  though  the  Prince  of 
Moronia  has  been  betrothed  to  the  Princess  of  Dementia 
from  birth.  All  these  threads  are  skillfully  woven  into  a 
tapestry  of  laughs  that  pile  upon  each  other  with  bewildering 
rapidity — topped  by  a  surprise  finish  that  is  really  a  mirtJi- 
quake  of  hilarity. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  60  cents. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


APF 


1  9  1993 


iuvj  auviccu,  luu,  tmi  wucii  nugu  attempts  to  demonstrate  an 
invention  to  one  of  the  most  important  men  in  Washington, 
he  causes  an  explosion  and  the  garage  burns  to  the  ground! 
Suspecting  sabotage,  the  G-men  rush  to  the  scene  and  Hugo 
has  to  go  into  biding.  Miss  Fernway  keeps  the  fun  at  the 
boiling  point  until  the  final  curtain. 
(Budget  Play.)  Price,  60  cents. 


nrif   LIBRARY.  COS  XNGOB 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001  259405 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Millard  Crosby.  6  males,  9  fe- 
males. Interior.  Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

Nobody  could  possibly  sit  before  this  rough-house  in  a  school 
room  without  giving  vent  to  screams  of  laughter!  Every  time 
Butch  Callahan,  the  tough  boy,  starts  to  pick  on  the  sweetest 
boy  in  the  class,  the  audience  howls.  Then  there  is  the  stuck-up 
daughter  of  the  head  of  the  School  Board;  the  teacher's  pet; 
Tessie  Talent  who  simpers  and  "Him"  with  all  the  boys; 
Flash  Graham,  who  sleeps  through  most  of  the  proceedings; 
the  poor  teacher  who  is  almost  driven  out  of  her  wits — to 
mention  only  a  few  of  the  characters.  Wisecracks  are  hurled 
across  the  classroom  as  often  as  blackboard  erasers. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 

LEMON   PIE  FOR  ANDY 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Kinnier  St.  Clair.  3  males,  3 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  30  minutes. 

An  amusing  one-act  comedy  concerning  the  efforts  of  Bets 
Barton  and  her  family  to  make  her  boy-friend  Andy  propose. 
She  has  even  baked  a  lemon  pie  to  show  him  what  a  good 
cook  she  is.  Unknown  to  them  Andy  arrives  ready  to  "pop 
the  question."  Everything  the  family  does  makes  matters 
worse.  Lizzie,  the  part-time  maid;  Bud,  Bets'  kid  brother;  the 
pompous,  hen-pecked  Mr.  Barton;  his  talkative  wife — each  puts 
his  foot  in  it  in  an  unexpected  way. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 

CROWN  UP 

Comedy,  i  act.  By  Beth  Fiske.  i  male,  4  females. 
(Male  part  can  be  played  by  girl.)  Interior.  Modern 
costumes.  30  minutes. 

Jane  is  excited  about  her  first  "long  dress"  party  until  her 
friend  Barbara  discloses  that  this  is  to  be  a  party  with  "dates." 
Jane  begs  her  mother  that  she  be  allowed  to  stay  away  from 
the  party.  Mrs.  Mills  is  mystified  when,  having  left  the  room 
momentarily,  she  returns  to  find  her  daughter  again  keenly 
anticipating  the  coming  event.  The  secret  is,  of  course,  that 
Fred,  a  classmate,  has  made  a  brief  call,  has  given  an  abrupt 
invitation  and  an  enthusiastic  kiss.  Light  dawns  for  Mrs.  Mills 
as  her  daughter  whirls  excitedly  about  the  room. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 


MERRY  MOLLY  MALONE 

Comedy,  i  art.  By  Brian  McCarthy.  3  males,  4 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes.  35  minutes. 

Vivacious  Molly  Malonc,  Irish  lass  new  to  this  country,  falls 
in  love  with  wealthy  and  aristocratic  Noel  Barrington.  Mr. 
Harrington  sends  a  lawyer  to  offer  Molly  five  thousand  dollars 
to  return  to  Ireland.  Instilled  and  angered,  Molly  goes  directly 
to  the  Barrington  home  where  she  is  mistaken  for  the  new 
maid,  encounters  Noel's  snobbish  sister,  meets  ludicrous  and 
amusing  misadventures,  and  unpredictably  proves  her  real 
worth  to  the  Harringtons. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  rents. 

GETTING  PINNED 

Comedy,  j  act.  By  Grace  Barney.  3  males,  5  fe- 
males. Interior.  Modern  rosMmes.  35  minutes. 

The  mix-ups  are  orjic  and  various  when  Janice  refuses  to 
accept  Luther's  fratei  viiy  pin  because  she  expats  a  visit  from 
an  old  admire/,  Lutluv  turns  to  another  co-ed,  Veina,  who 
soon  shows  up  wearing  a  p'u.  Wh».'  could  have  put  it  there  hut 
Luther?  Then  Janice's  olc  boyfriend  appeals  ;,-nd  things  really 
begin  to  h.'.ppec.  A  brighi  and  cheerful  college  comedy  which 
is  sure  to  f'otifi  t  jVc. 

(Budget  1'lay.    Pn<  :.  y,  -ems. 

H;LI.6ILLY  SUE 

Con;edy.  i  aa.  By  N'<-'d  Albert.  3  males,  5  females. 
Interior.  Mod'-ni  cosi.mies.  35  minutes. 

Before  the  att>u/  of  tlir  j •}-,- .  starts  Sue  Slade,  "Hillbilly 
Sue,"  ha?  l<s:  !.e  .  .  *-;i;-  hires  out"  to  the  Blackmail 

family.  Maw  Bla .!  :<.«,.  s  dau;s  i.cr,  iJonita,  has  spent  most  oi' 
tier  life  in  the  cit).  Newt  Plur/uoer,  a  kind-hearted  mouniaii- 
lad,  is  so  anxious  to  "git  hitche-d"  to  lionita  that  Sue  deter-  / 

mines  to  help  fur'her  his  suit.  When  Vaughn  Alcott,  an  out- 
sider who  is  st;spvcte«i  <;'  bein,,  "a  revenoocr,"  arrives  on  the 
scene  Bonita  shows  a  si;  ;.!cn  ii  terest  in  him  and  Sue  decides         i  \ 
to  put  an  end  10  t'lai.  The  things  that  Sue  resorts  to  'n  order 
to  make  Bonita  re.'lize  that  Ve  vt  is  her  man  would  make  a  \ 

mummy  laugh  and  they  not  otly  involve  Bonita  and  Newt  but 
also  include  Doc  Lolly  MiJlis,  a  female  veterinary  who  hates 
males,  and  Newt's  Uncle  iiucic  who  hates  women — and  Sue 
brings  them  together. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  35  cents. 


